


Firebird

by howlingmoonrise (TheDarkStoryteller)



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Resonance Bang 2014, resbang 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 10:10:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2769200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkStoryteller/pseuds/howlingmoonrise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Diverges slightly from the end of the manga and goes from there.<br/>Death City is still recuperating from the battle with madness when Soul and Maka discover what appears to be another of Eibon's artifacts - something that must be carefully kept under control, especially now that that the political games include the Witch Council - and go in search of it before it falls into the wrong hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> My participation for Resbang 2014 :)  
> Chapters will be put up as I reformat/edit them for FFN and AO3.
> 
> Enjoy!  
> \--

 

The dark sky above Death City is strangely empty.

Logically, both Soul and Maka know that it isn't _empty_ \- it merely appears to be so. The moon is covered in a sphere of black blood, much like the kind that had coursed through the weapon's veins until mere hours ago. The absence of its forever-grinning surface in the velvety night leaves a disquieting throbbing in their souls; the moon has been there ever since the city itself had been created, yet now it's gone.

It isn't the only thing that has changed in their lives, however.

With a quiet sigh, Maka Albarn closes the blinds of the window after giving one last tired look outside in search of Blair and deducing that the cat would be spending the night out. Guilt churns in her stomach as her eyes drift again towards the empty sky; both Soul and her are broken, tired, beaten-up, and they left a friend behind.

Soul nudges her softly. "Let's get cleaned up," he says, and she follows.

The contents of their first-aid cabinet have grown and spilled over through the years, bandages and antiseptic and burn creams almost everywhere in the house. It pays to be careful; they discovered it pretty early on in their partnership. Neither of them are the kind to take that sort of chance.

Wordlessly, Maka hands the supplies to Soul, knowing that he won't allow her to take care of him first. It's part of a weapon's instinct, deeply ingrained into their subconscious that _the weapon protects the meister_ , yet Soul manages to take it to whole new levels. He rips open the pack with the disinfected needle and medical thread, and settles everything else by the counter.

"Which ones are the worst?" he asks, but she's already unsuccessfully trying to pull off her shirt, wincing. The dry blood has glued together the fabric to the wounds, which means that scissors and hot water will have to come into play - not that she isn't used to it, but still. He frowns. "I thought the black blood had sealed that."

"It did, for the most part," she shrugs, and it's hard to keep her eyes open. She's so _tired,_ her limbs feel weak, even her near-constant subconscious resonance with Soul is hard to maintain. "But it was concentrating only on the most important ones," she says, and his eyes drop to where she had a hand shoved through her middle earlier that day.

It looks nearly healed, and it will leave quite a scar, but for once he's glad he had been infected with the Black Blood - she wouldn't have survived, otherwise. "Plus there's the one on my shoulder."

He nods, kneeling in front of her sitting form, and gets to work. A companionable silence settles between the two as he cautiously peels the wettened shreds of clothing from her skin, wiping away the old blood before stitching the torn flesh carefully. His hands are steady even as she flinches, trying to muffle her whimpers of pain. They ran out of anesthetics days ago, too busy to remember to replace them; he doesn't like that he's causing her pain, but her body is already too close to shutting down and they really need to bandage her up before going to sleep. Badly treated injuries bring the kind of repercussions they can't deal with - not with things as they are.

He bandages her shoulder, the circle of damaged flesh over her ribcage, disinfects and covers the multiple scrapes on her arms with white gauze. Her legs are better off, but not by much. There's a still-bleeding cut on her left thigh, as long as his hand, and she sheepishly looks away when he gives her a scolding look for not saying anything about it sooner. How she had walked most of the way home with it is beyond him, but he knows her well enough to know that it's because she doesn't want to be a burden.

"Stupid," he mutters, and cleans that one up, too. She leans her forehead against his shoulder, and falls asleep.

 

* * *

Soul is very much glad that he doesn't suffer all that many injuries when in weapon form. Not to say that he comes out of battles in a perfect state - that would be an outright lie. His blood used to boil black under his skin, the pain from the blows his meister takes shared through the resonance link - but at least the general lack of physical injuries allows him to concentrate, first and foremost, on Maka. An overwhelming tiredness settles bone-deep in his body.

Maka, his meister. Maka, the human who makes up for her fragility with boundless courage and determination. Maka, whose skin is soft and whose bones are breakable and who looks so fragile, who can take down kishins without breaking a sweat. He swore to protect her, both out loud and to himself, but he finds that it's not that easy, not when she's as hard-headed as she is and not when the world seems bent on throwing the hardest of enemies their way.

Soul carries her from her perch on the closed toilet lid to the soft sheets in her bedroom. She's filthy, _he's_ filthy, and the bed sheets are probably never going to recover from the mixture of muck, dirt, sweat, and two different types of blood, but he's beyond caring at this point. She'll probably scold him in the morning - or whenever they wake up, which he guesses won't be anytime soon - but if she were conscious, Maka herself probably wouldn't have gone to the lengths of taking a shower before crashing down on the nearest surface and going to sleep, anyway.

One of her pigtails is already coming undone, so he helps with the process. The elastic has certainly seen better days; he makes a mental note to get her new ones. Soul unties the other side, smoothing her dirty yet still soft hair over the pillow, then pulls the covers up to her chin before exiting the room.

It's nearly nightfall of the next day when he wakes up and finds her next to him.

* * *

Soul makes breakfast - or dinner, depending on the perspective - and the scent of nearly-burnt bacon and eggs fills the air. His meister sits on one of the kitchen's chairs, changing the bandages of the wounds on her leg, oblivious to the looks he keeps sending her way until she finally catches his eye.

"What?" she asks, and he shakes his head. It's one thing to find his meister cuddled up against him after a rough night, head nestled neatly against the side of his neck, and a whole other thing to confront her about it.

He likes the way they are, simple and wordless as they drift together time and time again. "Nothing," he says. "Just wondering if you need help with that."

She offers him one of her bright smiles, the kind that makes his brain melt for a second or two, and shakes her head. "I was just doing the legs," Maka says. "But after we eat, can you help me? I can't reach the rest without it hurting."

"Sure." He slides two-thirds of the food into her plate, and the rest into his. She's light and elegant, yet she always eats more than him, as she burns through the calories when training like it's nothing. She immediately starts eating, a good portion of the meal filling her mouth before he can even blink. "Slow down," he says. "You know you'll be hiccuping the rest of the night if you eat at that speed."

Maka grumbles, but ultimately complies. Soul then proceeds to shovel the food down his throat at the exact same speed his meister had been, grinning smugly at her between bites.

"You aren't even chewing it," she complains. He opens his mouth at her mockingly, showing the half-chewed food that fills the inside of it. "Ew! Gross - Soul, stop that!"

Maka flicks a piece of bread in his direction, and it lands right in the center of his still-opened mouth. He chokes, sending egg bits flying everywhere, and it's gross and terrible but _funny_ , so he sends both a glare and another piece of bread in her direction as she laughs at him.

It's the aftermath of the hardest battle in their lives so far, but they can still laugh. It gives them hope.

Then, the phone rings.

It's an odd time for normal people to be calling, but Death City doesn't have a lot of those anyway. They have been given the next few days off, given that they are amongst the groups most in need of recuperation, so any official calls are pretty much ruled out, unless Kid decided to assign them some paperwork. Maka shrugs, making her way towards the ringing appliance and picking bits of food out of her hair as she goes.

"Albarn and Eater household, may I ask who's speaking?"

There is a rough, masculine voice on the other side of the line, and she doesn't recognize it though it sounds terribly familiar. "Hello, miss. Does Soul Evans live there?"

Maka takes a peek at her weapon's profile, watching as he cleans up the mess they had made. "Ah- Yes, he does. Who's asking?"

There is a shuffle on the other side of the line. "Is he alright?"

Soul chooses that moment to pay attention to her conversation. "Who's on the phone?"

"I don't know!" Maka says frustratedly. "They haven't said yet."

"Well, then ask them-"

"I'm trying," she shouts. "Hold on!"

"Uhh, miss-"

"No need to yell-"

"If this is a bad time-"

"No, it's perfectly fine but if you could wait one minute-"

"Who is it?"

"I'll just call later-"

"Wait, hold on-"

_Click._

Silence.

Both Soul and Maka look at the silent phone, wondering what in Death's name had just happened.

"Soooo," Soul says, drawing out the word. "Did you find out who it was?"

Maka contains the urge to chuck the phone at his head. "They were asking about you," she says after a minute, conceding to herself that he should at least know.

He raises an eyebrow. "Seriously? And it wasn't anyone we know?"

She huffs, putting down the phone on the table. "If it was, I would know. He sounded kind of familiar, though."

" _He?_ "

"Well, yes," she says, perplexed. He almost sounds wary, the tiniest bit jealous, like when those few guys that manage to get past him try and ask her to be their meister - only the call had been for _him_ , that dork. "Is there something I should be aware of?"

"Not that I know of," he sighs, rubbing a hand over tired eyes. "Who calls at this time of the night, anyway?"

* * *

"I trust you two are well?" Kid asks, the breeze swaying his hair - now with the three complete lines of Sanzu. Liz had told Maka under complete confidence that it's a relief - the change within the new Shinigami, coupled with the development of his character during the difficult past weeks, had made him somewhat emotionally unstable - but it had also helped him, somehow. The OCD was down to far more manageable levels, though it would never be completely gone, as shown when Kid scowls momentarily at the unsymmetrical and incredibly long thorns of the dark roses crawling their way up the nearest wall.

Maka smiles at him, the cut in her lower lip stinging as she does. "Hi Kid," she says. "How are the repairs going?"

"Quite well, I believe," he smiles back. "Though Tsubaki is the one overseeing those."

"When she's not busy trying to keep that blue-haired idiot in bed, that is," Liz snorts. "The guy can't seem to understand that a fucking _broken spine_ is a reason to stay quiet and let it heal."

"He looks like a snake," Patti adds helpfully.

"Either way, I didn't call you about the repairs." Kid smoothes down his hair.

"Oh, no," Soul groans. "Please don't say it's paperwork."

Liz smirks. "Tough luck, shark boy. It's paperwork."

Maka looks elated, and Soul represses a groan. Figures his meister would like doing the boring stuff, if only to feel useful while unable to do any physical work. He can kind of understand that, given that all her frustration gets broadcasted over their link, but it doesn't change the fact that it's _paperwork_.

"Everything should be in the library," Kid says, casting an apologetic look at Soul's pained grimace. "Usually I'd take care of it myself, but I figured you'd rather stay in Shibusen instead of attending the meeting with the witches while Maka stayed here."

Soul sulks, but knows that the new Shinigami is right. Maka sends an inquisitive look his way. "Yeah, thanks for that. I really don't feel like dealing with _that_ anytime soon."

 _That_ , of course, is the fact that a Death Scythe in the midst of witches is always a target for suspicious glares and curious prodes. He's received his fair share of propositions during the short time they had interacted after the battle, and isn't eager to repeat the experience anytime soon - especially not without his meister.

"Thanks, Kid," Maka chirps, and takes Soul's hand in hers. It's warm, soft, but also calloused, for once without the gloves. They won't be fighting anytime soon, so she figured it was time to let her hands breathe for a while before they took on missions again. He likes it. He likes the feel of her skin against his, likes connecting with her physically as much as as mentally; the ever-present resonance thrums in the background, enhanced by the contact. He wants to feel her palm against his on a daily basis, for as long as he can before they inevitably have to part. Soul wonders if she wants to hold his hand as much as he wants to hold hers, and she tightens her grip in response.

"Holy shit," he breathes out when they reach the library, the access to it restricted to everyone but Spartoi while classes are on hold due to the repairs. The amount of paperwork is huge, towering above them in unstable, menacing piles that promise papercuts and sore eyes. "How the fuck are we going to get through all that today?"

Maka drags him to the table where the files are, plopping down on the chair. "We won't. Kid said he'd give us the week, since it's a lot."

He lets out a sigh of relief. "At least there's _that_."

Soul sits on the chair opposite her, deducing that each of them would need some space as they filed those piles of bureaucratic bullshit, but also mourning the loss of the warmth of her hand. Instead, he slouches in his seat, sliding his foot against hers and watching for her reaction. She doesn't disappoint. Maka turns red and squeaks, glancing quickly at his carefully composed features before looking away, but she doesn't move. In fact, her own foot slides closer to his, and he can almost feel her heat radiating through their clothing.

"W-we should get started on it, then," she says, cheeks still flushed, and he nods half-heartedly.

They decide not to divide the piles in two, because they're unstable enough as it is. It's better than to try and catch the flood of paper that will surely fill the library if they disturb them more than necessary, so they each take a few of the files from the top of the stack, watching warily as it wobbles dangerously, and get to work.

The library is silent, only the rustle of clothing and the scratching of the pens against the paper echoing in the empty halls. The quiet is eerie, almost oppressive, to the point that Soul wants to say something if only just to break it, but can't bring himself to do it. Instead, he tries to concentrate on the paperwork in front of him, and not on the way his meister's silky hair brushes against her clavicle, for once not covered by the neatly buttoned shirt-and-jacket combo. He fails, though, and finds himself stealing more glances at her than he should. Slowly, the skin of her neck turns the lightest shade of red.

"Just get to work," she mumbles, but he can see the beginnings of a smile in the corner of her lips.

* * *

"Well, what are you waiting for? Take it off," Soul says, doing his best to look busy as he gathers the medical supplies. "It's time to change the bandages."

Maka squirms in her seat. "Can't we delay it for a bit?"

He glances at her suspiciously. "Did you rip the stitches _again_?"

She blushes; it's the only answer he needs. Soul groans.

"I thought I told you to take it easy!"

"Well, I get bored!" she pouts. "I'm not used to just sitting around all day."

Soul snorts. "Yes, you are. It's all you ever do when we're not on missions, you bookworm."

"But I'm not _forced_ to be still!" Maka complains, arms crossed. "It's no fun if I can't even scratch my back when I feel like it."

"It's not supposed to be fun at all," he points out, but _I'll scratch it for you_ is what the link says in the background, affectionately pumping the message into her soul. _I'll make you tea and cake and bring you the pain pills and adjust your pillow._

He really likes seeing her flush, even if he doesn't say the words out loud in fear of sounding needy and just plain _uncool._

Maka's toes curl as she reaches up and starts unbuttoning her shirt.

"Fine," she says, and it's the tiniest, meekest voice he's ever heard her use. "Just hurry up."

They don't talk about how weird and improper it is that they've seen each other in such states of undress yet are not in a romantic relationship. They don't talk about the way his hands linger and how warm they feel against her skin, or how she shivers when his fingers caress her neck as he wraps a clean bandage around her shoulder. The only thing that matters is that the wounds are slowly healing; they'll get through it together, like they always do.

* * *

The funeral for the old Shinigami - or rather, the memorial, seeing as there wasn't anything to bury except for the mask, and that had been passed on to Kid - occurred not in a rainy, windy, sad day, as those things usually happened, but rather in a sunny one, though the somber expressions on every face present more than made up for the bright weather.

It seemed as if the entire population of Death City were there, crowding the streets with a moving mass of black garments and tears. Even the witches - honouring their treaty with the newest Shinigami - had come, paying their respects. Death Scythes from all over the planet took a momentary break from their jobs, from Tezca Tlipoca, in his mirror, to Djinn Galland and Dengu Dinga, alongside their meisters. Even tiny Enrique was present, his usual baseball cap replaced by a black one as he waved a very wet handkerchief in the wind.

Maka limps to her rightful place, beside the other Spartoi members, hand in hand with Soul. Kid insisted on them wearing the uniform; it's a way to show their respect as they are saying their goodbyes. Even Black*Star is there, slumped on a wheelchair - much to Tsubaki's distress, because _that's no way for someone with a broken spine to be_ and _he's going to make it a lot worse than it already is_ \- but he insists on at least that, even though he would have preferred to be standing. Tsubaki looks very much like she'd like to tie him down, but she refrains from doing so out of respect for the mourning atmosphere and because the struggle would most likely cause her meister to injure himself further.

Jacqueline and Kim offer them a quiet greeting, shifting a bit in order to give them space. They're also hand in hand, leaning into each other for comfort, and Maka had her ever-present background resonance with Soul thrumming with the fond thought that their friends have also found someone they belong with. Harvar sends them a welcoming nod, as does Kilik, and the elemental twins hug Maka's legs for a brief moment before returning to their meister's side.

Spirit is speaking at a podium set up just for this occasion, surrounded by the thorny, twisting dark roses that seem to be blooming everywhere nowadays; it's the most serious the bulk of them have ever seen the Death Scythe be. His words blur together in Soul's mind, a reverent and mourning mixture of how this is the end of an era, the rebirth of their world into something even greater, and how the loss of such a leader will affect them all deeply. Soul can't help but feel a twinge of something - pity, sympathy, perhaps? - because just the very thought of losing his meister, especially after working together for as many years as Spirit and Lord Death had, is just too painful to bear.

Kid takes the Death Scythe's place eventually, hands reverently holding his father's mask. Liz and Patti are standing by his side, solemn and proud, true Death's Weapons even if not made so officially by the consumption of a witch's soul.

Both Maka and Soul know that the new Shinigami is nervous. He had been stressing about what to say, if it would be enough, if it would be too much, if he should just skip the speech at all, since his Honorable Father had a tendency to cut any kind of speeches short. Kid had it all planned, pages of a practised monologue neatly organized.

His golden eyes scan the crowd, taking in the faces and expressions of all those who had come, from the little kids to the DWMA students to the inescrutable witches that had accepted the invitation out of respect for the new truce.

And then, instead of speaking, he gestures towards himself, palms forward, then facing one another, and then stretches his arms towards the crowd.

It's the last time he'll call his Father, but this time no one will answer.

* * *

Blair comes back on the third day after the battle, arms hanging with bags full of pastries, lingerie, and the medical supplies they keep forgetting to buy. "Soul-kun, Maka-chan~ Bu-tan brought food!"

There is a rustle from the sofa, and two heads pop out from behind it.

"Blair!" Maka greets, immediately standing up and wincing. "Where have you been? We've been worried."

The cat tsks, putting down the bags and walking over to them. She flicks Maka playfully on the nose. "Now, now, my kittens should know by now that Bu-tan can take care of herself, nyah~"

Maka rubs her nose as Soul scowls. "That doesn't change _anything,_ you could have been hurt-"

They're both shoved against gigantic-sized breasts as Blair hugs them. Soul sputters for a few seconds more before noticing that Maka is just hugging her back instead of complaining, and so proceeds to do the same. She smells of cream and sun and sweat and _home_ , and he doesn't want to admit it but he's missed her. Blair is a part of their little rag-tag family, the kind you put together with glue and care and that lasts for a lifetime, so he just sinks into the softness and lets the cat's maternal affection wash over him.

"Blair missed her kittens, too," she whispers, and holds them for a few more moments before she lets go. "Anyway," she perks up. "Bu-tan brought her kittens' favourite foods. Let's curl up and watch a movie while we eat~"

"I don't want any crumbles on the sofa," Maka grumbles, but not five minutes later they're all curled up together, eating cakes overflowing with honey and whipped cream and sugar that smears everywhere, the glow from the screen reflecting in their eyes.

It's comfortable; it's family; it's home; it's the taste of sugary treats on their tongues, and body heat to keep the chill away. None of them want the moment to be over, but there's a foreboding feeling in the air that tells them that things aren't going to continue like this.

Finally, as if to confirm their earlier suspicions, Blair sighs. "Kittens," she says. "Blair is leaving."

The reaction is immediate. The meister leaps off the couch, followed by the weapon, questions and denial flying out of their lips; the cat just looks at them regretfully before shushing them.

"It's only for a while," she explains, even as their wide eyes make guilt twinge in her heart; she knows it's the right thing to do. "The battle made Blair realize that there are a few things she needs to do, and to do them she needs to leave for a while. But Blair will come back, nyah~"

She doesn't answer any of their questions, merely pleads with them to come back to the couch and snuggle for a little while longer. They remain silent for the rest of the evening, listening to the heartbeat of the cat, and if the she notices slightly puffier eyes and the dribble of wet tears onto her skin, she doesn't say anything. She just holds them close, and prays to whatever gods had granted her her kittens with that she'll be able to come back soon.

When morning comes and Blair's not there, they don't say a word. But they keep their fridge stocked with sardines and milk, just in case.


	2. Two

Newspapers all over the world speak of the birth of a new Shinigami, even on those countries where matters such as meisters, weapons, witches, and kishins are disregarded as tales to tell the kids to scare them into behaving. The media have done their job, though, so weapons and meisters all over the world who hadn't stayed after the old Shinigami's memorial arrive back in town; Death City is dressed in bright colours and decorations - perfectly symmetrical, of course - for the enthronement of the new Lord Death.

Said new Lord Death is, of course, freaking out.

"Have you checked the banners?" he frenetically asks Liz, who looks extremely bored as she wraps his new black cloak in place.

"Everything's _fine,_ Kid."

"You better not freak out in front of everyone, Kiddo!" Patti cheerfully says before her expression darkens dangerously. "Or I'll friggin' kill ya."

Kid whimpers.

 

* * *

 

Everything goes according to plan, of course. The roads around the DWMA are filled to the brim with people hoping to see their new ruler and god; the decorations seem to pass Kid's scrutiny; Spirit only has to try and pass on the mask to the new Shinigami four times until Kid deems it to be put on straight enough - or rather, Black*Star screams at him to get it over with and Kid decides to comply in fear of the festival being wrecked by the egotistical ninja.

Maaba and her right-hand witch are granted places in the podium next to the death god, which incites some discussion between the spectators, but not nearly as much as it had been expected. Then, it's time for Soul to go up.

Maka squeezes his hand before he goes. "Good luck."

 

* * *

 

He's playing for everyone to hear, and it's wonderful.

Maka lets a happy smile play on her lips as she bounces up the steps to join him; she's terribly proud of her weapon and she doubts even the gods would be able to keep her away from him right now.

"They aren't even listening," he half-complains when she takes her place next to him, sitting on the giant stairs they walk up almost every day. "Aren't you going to enjoy yourself?"

"I like it here," she smiles. "It's better by your side. Now you can even play without me here, eh?"

Her weapon pinks a little, unsuccessfully trying to hide it by scoffing and turning his face away from her. She's embarrassed him. How absolutely _cute_. "Shut up! I'll be fine."

They've grown so much - the conversation they are having is the very proof of that. On the early days, he's only talk enough to say 'cool' things; she sure is glad he's past that phase.

_Soul Eater Evans, huh? I can get used to that._

Her train of thought screeches and halts, and imaginary-Maka watches as it goes up in flames when her weapon's lips form that perfect smirk of his as he says, "Even this music is something we made together, isn't it?"

She bolts up from her seat, face on fire, and there's not a single moment in the evening when his words leave her mind.

 

* * *

 

"Hey," she says as he twirls the pen nimbly with his fingers. "I don't think these are the files we were supposed to work on."

The pen slips. They've been working on this for three days already, and he'll be damned if they have to start all over again. "What? What do you mean? It looks all in order to me."

Maka nods. "It looked that way to me, too, but this one looks different." She slides the page towards him. "Here, take a look."

She's right, it does look odd, as well as much older than the files they have been working on; it's yellowed with age and mistreatment, and with a frayed edge, as if it had been torn from a book. The page is covered in glyphs, half of of them with a rather obvious meaning due to their picture-like design, and the rest with symbols much like those they had encountered when dealing with Eibon's is a rather detailed drawing of a firebird in the center, runes for power and strenght surrounding it.

Maka chews on her lip thoughtfully. "It's probably another of Eibon's artifacts - a powerful one, too, according to the inscriptions."

"That's definitely not good," Soul frowns. "If this falls into the wrong hands, no one can tell what kind of havoc they'd create."

"Especially now that we're finally at peace with the witches," she adds. "We should look into this. There's no telling if there are more ripped pages out there, anyone could find them."

"What do you want to do, then?"

"We should probably tell Kid."

 

* * *

 

Stein looks as unsettling as ever when he opens the door and lets Soul and Maka inside. Maka had mused over whether the news of his upcoming parenthood would change him since he would now have a pregnant lover, and later, a baby to take care of - and that's bound to change most people, mad doctor or not; Soul had laughed in her face.

Maka gives the older meister a quick hug, though, and he and Soul exchange curt nods as they make their way to the living room, where Marie awaits them.

"Hi," the friendly weapon greets as soon as they walk in, offering a wide, warm smile that comforts their souls. "How have the two of you been? Not up to much trouble, I hope."

The pair shares a quick look, grinning. "For once, we actually haven't," Maka replies, laughing. "But that'll probably change soon enough, you know how these things are."

"I sure do!" chirps Marie as she tries to get up. Stein sends her a look before she can, though, and she sits back down, pouting. "But that doesn't mean that I can't hope for the best. Stein, be a dear and fetch us those cookies."

Maka shoots a smug 'I told you so' look at her weapon.

"Marie has been worrying too much," says Stein, casting her a disapproving look, though not without some fondness. She smiles brightly in return. "She's even been trying to get back and help work on the repairs. I've told her time and time again that she can't do heavy physical work for her sake and the baby's, but she won't listen."

"I just feel bad not doing anything while everyone works so hard," the blonde woman confesses, sounding almost guilty. "And it's not it would do any damage at this stage, anyway, but Stein insists on treating it like some sort of delicate experiment even at this point. Would the two of you like some tea?"

Maka gracefully accepts, taking a moment before she speaks again. "Actually, we'd like to ask Professor Stein about something - we aren't sure on who to go to about this since it's a rather delicate matter."

"Oh?" the older meister raises a grey eyebrow, the eyes behind his lenses glinting interestedly. "What is it about, then?"

"What do you know about Eibon's artifacts?" Maka bursts out, flushing as she realizes that she probably came off as far too eager for the information.

Stein gives her a look as he strokes his chin thoughtfully, looking extremely out of place in the midst of the fluffy pillows Marie had recently placed on the worn sofa in hopes of making it look 'homey'. Soul expects the entire place to be redecorated by the next time they stop by. "Not much more than Lord Death revealed to you all, I fear. My memory isn't what it was, but maybe if I have some specifics I can see if I can remember something, maybe research a bit-"

"You won't find anything," Soul says, ignoring Maka's glare at his interruption. "Not in anything accessible to the general public or Death Scythes, at least. We already checked."

"Interesting," the scientist mutters to himself, and Marie looks lost in thought. "You should probably ask Kid about the records in his father's office, then. Meanwhile, I'll see what I can do, regardless. Do you have the files on you?"

"Yes," says Maka, already shuffling through her bag. "They're only copies, though - we figured it wouldn't be a good idea for the originals to leave their place."

"You probably did well," says Marie, nodding to two of them. "If they remained hidden for this long, it was most likely for a good reason."

"We didn't think of that," Maka admits sheepishly. "It was mostly because last time we got in trouble for checking out things without authorization."

Soul snorts. "More like _you_ got in trouble- _I_ didn't do anything wrong."

Maka elbows him; he elbows her back, though his elbows are nowhere near as effective as her bony, skinny ones that just seem to go through his ribs. Marie hides an amused smile at their antics, but sobers up quickly enough. "Just promise me you won't get into too much trouble."

"We won't," they chorus, even though they can't make any real promises about it. Risk and danger are part of their job description, after all.

Then, Maka squeals as she spots a thick catalogue full of embroidery and baby photos on the cover. "Is that for the baby?!"

Soul and Stein share a rare moment of camaderie as the conversation quickly degenerates into baby talk.

 

* * *

 

"I see," Kid says, stroking his chin thoughtfully over the mask he has taken to wearing since the coronation ceremony. Soul can't even begin to think of how awkward and suffocating it must be, being stuck all day long with what was probably the grittiest, chalkiest mask in existence, made of bone older than the birth of some civilizations - and then his respect for the deceased Lord Death increases even more at the thought of what it must have been like to wear the damned thing _every single day_ in order not to terrorize his students.

"We thought we should let you know," says Maka, dropping the arm with which she had handed the file to the new Shinigami. "It's the kind of thing we shouldn't underestimate, after all."

From the eye holes on the mask, they see Kid's eyebrows furrow. "You did well. Even with the new treaty with the witches, there is always some need to be prepared for such things. This kind of artifact cannot fall into the wrong hands, after all."

"Yes." Maka nods. "We thought as much. Good intentions or not, we should always be ready to act."

Kid nods as well. "I'll trust this matter to you two, then."

"Sure thing," Maka chirps brightly. "Do you think there might be something in your father's files?"

"Probably," the new Lord Death answers slowly. "Though I haven't properly sorted through those yet, and there are quite a few which are harmful to mortal eyes. I'll see what I can do, but I have a meeting with Mabaa in a few minutes and-"

"Yo, Kiddo!" comes Patti's gleeful voice from the end of the hall. "Time to go!"

"Wait, I have to-"

"No time for that," Liz intervenes sharply. "There's been a major fuck-up somewhere, and apparently we've left the Council waiting for nearly two hours."

Kid goes pale. " _What?_ "

Patti giggles. "You're in _troubleeee~_ "

"Exactly what you heard," Liz snarls, pushing him along. "I'd get around to firing some people if I were you, but _later!_ "

"But, Kid-"

"We'll talk about this later, yes?" they hear Kid shout from the end of the hall. "Just see what you can find until then!"

"Sure!" Maka shouts back, as Soul looks on. "Let's go, Soul!"

"You're all nuts," he sighs, and lets her take his hand as she leads the way.

 

* * *

 

She gives him the most innocent look she can muster. Soul isn't fooled.

"Makaaaa," he groans. "No."

"Yes," she says, a grin spreading on her face. "Come on, Soul. Don't be so uncool."

He groans again. It's a low blow, attacking his coolness. "You know, when I first partnered with you, I thought for sure you were a stickler for the rules."

She makes a grab for his hand. "Well, then you've probably learned by now that first impressions aren't always right. Now come ooooon."

Soul lets her drag him, if only because he can't bring himself to tear his hand away. They're going to get in _trouble._ This isn't something to be taken lightly; the Shinigami's private business is not the kind of thing you just mess with, and Maka _knows_ it.

"This isn't going to end well," he warns her, even though he's also sneakily checking if there's anyone around.

"Pshhh, it'll be fine."

"Says you," he grumbles. "Did you forget that they discovered that you were checking out books from the restricted section? Because I didn't."

She waves him off. "It's not like _you_ had to serve detention. Plus, we're not leaving behind any clues."

"Riiight," he drawls. "It's not like we're the only people here, and _the only people who they'll blame._ "

It makes her falter for a second, but she's too curious. Soul wants to make a witty remark about how curiosity killed the cat, but then remembers that if he does, he won't be able to use it on Blair later - which would be far more appropriate. "They won't even check, they've got plenty more important things to worry about right now. And it's not like we're going to _keep_ it, plus we're _technically_ doing this under Kid's orders and everything - though _they_ don't know that. I just want to know why they're being so secretive. It'll be just like a spy novel!"

They move along the corridor on their tiptoes. Soul is fully aware of how stupid they look, but he's pretty much morally obligated to go along with his meister's silliness. "You're _still_ reading those?"

She flushes prettily. "They're interesting! At least I _read._ "

"I read," Soul refutes.

"Comic books don't count," she snottily says. "And I'm pretty sure you only read _those_ because of all the heroines with back-breaking breasts."

It's his turn to blush. "No, I _don't._ " Soul has the morbid urge to bring the Book of Eibon into the conversation just to prove his point, though he's pretty sure he'll die of embarrassment if his meister ever makes the connection between his form from the Lust chapter and herself. So what if he's gained an appreciation for small breasts? It doesn't _mean_ that it's because of her (yes, it totally does, but he refuses to admit it even to himself, especially now that they maintain that background resonance almost constantly).

She brushes him off. "Let's just go," she says, and does her best sneaky walk towards the locked room. "I need your fingers here."

Soul does a double-take. "You need my f- Ooooh, right." He tries not to think of all the different ways she could have meant that exact same assortment of words.

Maka bristles. "Just unlock the thing!"

He takes his sweet time to do so, just to show her that he's not pleased with this as she shifts nervously behind him. He takes great care not to damage the lock, even if he nearly slips a few times when her knees lean against his back.

"Hurry up!" she hisses.

"I'm _trying!_ "

"Then try _harder!_ "

Soul contains the urge to snap at her to do it herself just as the door unlocks. He makes a very poor imitation of the hacker in nearly all blockbuster movies. "We're in."

 

* * *

 

The dust assaults their noses as soon as they walk in; it takes quite a few sneezes and their sleeves in front of their mouths before they manage to breathe normally. The office is gigantic, dark, containing towering shelves stacked with endless books and files Soul reckons no one would be able to read within a century. He can't picture the late Shinigami sitting in the old desk, golden inlays mostly flaked off, filling out paperwork and searching all the material for vital information; the old Death God didn't seem like the scholarly type at all.

Soul watches as Maka works hard to contain giddy squeals at the sight of so much reading material - most of it probably dangerous, forbidden, or detrimental to human eyes - and it almost pains his soul to stop her from attacking the dusty shelves.

"We're here for a reason," he whispers, and Maka's eyes lose the excited glint as she nods somberly.

It's too soon after the old Shinigami's death for them to lose the reverent whisper in their voices; Soul doesn't think it will ever actually happen. There is something about the memory of the benevolent Death God that invokes respect and fear. His presence seems to be everywhere in his office.

"We should start for looking for things that seem relevant," Maka whispers back, taking his hand and leading him towards the mahogany secretary desk in the middle of the room. Her hand is cool and silky in his, a heavy contrast with the rough, cracking leather spine of the book she hands him.

They settle on the floor, knees touching as they browse over the books' contents, and it's a long time before they move in search of more. They avoid anything that looks potentially menacing, using Maka's Soul Perception to figure out if any of them has an evil, dark soul trapped inside (he wouldn't put it past the old Shinigami; his innocent exterior had fooled them for a while, but now they knew better). There is one particular book with a golden exterior and red letters that draws Maka in; Soul pushes her away from it as it starts smoking when her fingers reach for it.

Half of the books they can get their hands are in a myriad of languages which Soul is pretty sure haven't been used for millennia; Maka takes pleasure in chopping him when he makes a pun about how fitting it is for a Death God to use dead languages no one else can understand. It's useless for them to try and decipher the glyphs that decorate the pages in all kinds of ink, some of which Soul is pretty damn sure is actually blood. Some of them have covers far too much like human skin for comfort. He represses a shiver at the thought.

Either way, there are some pretty gory books in the Shinigami's collection, written in blood and skin or not. He covers his meister's eyes as she wiggles frustratedly against his hold because _those_ are definitely some illustrations she doesn't need to see.

It takes a long time until they finally start to find bits of relevant information - here and there, they find a few symbols that they vaguely recognize from the file they had originally found; a passage alluding to the most powerful artifacts in Death's collection; a paragraph there about all kinds of treasures hidden and locked down for safety. The light is low, filtered through the cluster of dark, thorny roses growing outside the window in shades of purple and black, and Soul fears that Maka will make them spend all night in the old Shinigami's office when a shout resounds in his ears.

He winces. "Ow, Maka! What the fuck?"

"I found the thing!" she says excitedly, not looking at all like the sleepy mess she had been not one minute ago. "Soul, I found it!"

He shuffles closer to her, close enough that her back is leaning against his chest. He only realizes that he'd been cold when her warmth takes over his skin.

"Show me," he says, and his voice is raspy and low from hours of not talking. He clears his throat when she settles further into him, the book over her folded legs so he can see it as well from over her shoulder. Her voice quivers as she speaks; it's faint, nearly indiscernible, but he feels it on the tremor of her throat as his ear rests against her silky neck.

"It's not much," she confesses, and he tries to ignore how the soft tips of her pigtails tickle his face. "But it's more than we've found so far."

He can't be bothered to read the damn thing, though they've spent hours searching for it; instead, he closes his eyes and relishes on being so close to his meister. "Does it say something about where it is?"

His meister shivers underneath him as his breath grazes over her skin; he tries not to feel too satisfied about it. "Kind of. There's a riddle of sorts in here; it might tell us what we need to know."

"Can you solve it?"

"Maybe," she whispers. "But it'll take a few days, and some research."

He groans. Maka snickers at his pained expression, and he buries his face further into her neck, taking in her soft scent.

There are gentle fingers threading through his hair, petting it softly. "But, for now, let's just go home."


	3. Three

"It should be around here somewhere!"

The desert air is as dry and hot as ever, whipping sand and dust across their unprotected faces as Soul's beloved motorcycle speeds over the rippling dunes. It's early morning, and though they both loathe to be up this early when they don't have any obligations to attend to, it's the best hour to escape the unrelenting heat that constantly permeates the air.

The last thing either of them wants is to be caught under the laughing desert sun while it's at its hottest; one too many bad experiences have proven how much of a terrible idea that would be. The best time to go out on a desert mission is at night, because at least then the cold won't make the metal scald beneath their fingertips and exhaust them before they can even start. But this is Death City, capital of corrupted souls and monsters hiding beneath children's beds - if the city itself is not safe, even less is the desert that surrounds it, where kishins hide beneath the sand and lurk just out of sight. Shibusen had lost enough students to the desert nights; now leaving the city at night is strictly forbidden. There doesn't need to be any punishment for those who disobey, because everyone is all too aware that they most likely wouldn't make it back.

"Have you checked the coordinates?" Soul shouts, receiving a mouth full of sand as reward. He splutters, concentrating on keeping his eyes on the road even as he makes the most undignified of faces.

"Yes," Maka hollers back, shielded from the sand behind Soul's jacket. Her voice is nearly lost in the soul-stealing wind, but he strains both his ears and grasps onto the connection between their souls, just managing to catch her words. "Try to turn a bit more south!"

He complies, mourning the free hours and the crisp bills that he'll have to sacrifice in order to empty his bike of _all this damn sand_. He sends an annoyed twinge through their background resonance, warning his meister that he'll be complaining about it for the next three months unless she fishes out a few bills to help out with the repairs - she was the one that insisted on taking his bike, after all. Soul decides to firmly ignore her tiny mumble of how 'she only trusts his bike and would refuse to get on any other' and how flattered it makes him feel.

They drive around for hours. The sun is beating down on them cruelly, high in the sky, and there is a massive headache spreading through their link to the point that neither know from where it originates. Soul is measuring how bad the sandy, raspy dryness in his throat would feel in comparison to the Maka-Chop she would be sure to gift him with if he just stood his ground and drove them both back to Death City, but then Maka grips his shoulders tight.

"I see something," she rasps, extending her arm over his head. He tries to ignore the softness of the breasts pressing against his back. "Over there!"

 

* * *

 

Maka goes on ahead with all the confidence of an animal that has never known fear. Soul scowls at her back. Figures she'd completely forget about his bike as soon as she saw her goal; it's one thing to be riding out in the desert with the sun and the sand against them - but it's an an entire different matter to leave it out in the open in a place with all manner of creatures _and_ dust devils _and_ the sun blazing down on the unprotected metal. It would never fit in the tiny opening Maka was heading towards - they would essentially be leaving his baby out in the open to die.

Soul prays to Kid for them to be back before anything happens to it.

"Soul! Are you coming or what?" Maka calls. He doesn't dare speak, fearing childishly that the inside skin of his throat will tear, parched from dust and sand and lack of lubrication, yet he shoves his hands in his pockets and walks resignedly towards his partner. He makes sure to send several more irritated twangs through their link so she knows that he isn't satisfied with her _at all._ She ignores them, instead giving him a thoughtful look.

"I don't suppose you can burst into flames with all those new fancy Death Scythe powers of yours?"

He growls.

Maka has the gall to look _offended_ , arms crossed tightly in front of her chest. "Well, you _could_ have. You grew a fucking piano on your scythe blade, of all things."

He flushes. "It's not the same!"

She doesn't even deign to give him an answer right away, instead exploring the dark entrance. "I'm just saying that right now would be a good time to develop some Jackie-esque _talents,_ that's all."

Soul groans, everything clicking in place in his brain. "You forgot to bring the flashlight, didn't you?"

It's her skin glowing red in embarrassment now, though it's barely discernible under her rapidly-forming sunburn. He is afraid to even see himself in the mirror; his skin already feels too tight and itchy, even after Maka had smothered both of them in sunscreen.

Sometimes, he really hates his life.

"Well, it doesn't matter!" she bursts out, turning away and stomping through the dark threshold. "And it would matter even _less_ if you-"

He dashes forward just in time to grab at her arm as she falls, pulling her towards him. The momentum is too great to stop the fall, however. The floor has disappeared under their feet, the darkness pulling at them as they fall, and fall, and keep on falling down the abyss. They are screaming, the grip on one another's hand never loosening.

* * *

Eventually, it just becomes boring.

"So," Maka awkwardly says, voice still raspy from the screaming and the sand. "You feel like trying those lantern powers now?"

He groans. "Maka, you can't just insist on the matter forever. You forgot the damn flashlight, now deal with it."

"Well, unless you brought a pack of cards or something to entertain ourselves with-"

"Well, _excuse me_ for not planning on falling down an endless pit-"

"You're being stupid."

"No, _you're_ being stupid- Oh _great_ , now we're back to primary school insults."

They bicker back and forth for what seems like hours, struggling for what could have passed as a normal conversation if the words didn't seem to be ripped away from their mouths by the wind created by their relentless descent. They are clinging to each other, revelling in the other's body heat even as the temperature keeps dropping.

Then, she lets go with a screech.

"MAKA!"

"SOMETHING IS TOUCHING ME! _SOUL!_ "

She sounds terrified. How can he get to her?! He doesn't know where she is, and the dark void they have fallen into makes the direction of her voice nearly impossible to determine. He shouts out her name again, desperately trying to grasp some part of her and bring her _back,_ because they have suffered through all kinds of trials and faced them head on, but _together_.

Ghostly fingers graze his back, and he feels them even through his jacket. Then, there are more, scratching at his ankles, pulling him towards them. They grow in number, and again and again, until there are a hundred cold, invisible hands reaching out for him, for her. They touch and grasp and pull at anything their unseen fingers seem to touch; the hairs on the nape of his neck and arms are raised as if sensing a winter storm coming. He shudders and growls uselessly at their grasp, hearing a single, strangled whimper from his meister, too far away for him to reach even if he knew which direction to aim for.

They've faced plenty of dangers in their short lives together; hand in hand, side by side, the wielded and the wielder; partners, soulmates, friends, they are all of it. But this is different, and desperation claws at his throat, at his soul. This time, it isn't a new kind of unrelenting enemy wanting power. This time, they can't face this new danger confidently together in some form, taking consolation and courage in the other's presence.

This is their one, weak spot, and Soul doesn't think he can ever forgive himself for letting them fall into this nightmare.

_We could have flown out of here,_ his mind screams. _We could have fucking flown out of here and then we wouldn't still be here, we wouldn't be separated!_

The screaming doesn't stay only in his mind; he's shouting her name while she screams his, frantically searching for each other's presence in the everlasting darkness. Their yelling seems only to multiply, bouncing off the absent walls over and over until it doesn't sound like their voices anymore.

And as the echoes get louder and louder, they realize that they aren't theirs after all. There are thousands of names being whispered in their ears, wailed across the emptiness; fear makes his limbs go cold as Soul realizes that the voices belong to the souls trying to take away their warmth, their lives.

His head aches, a thousand shrieking needles piercing through his skull as he calls for her. "MAKA, USE YOUR SOUL PERCEPTION!"

"I'M TRYING," she hollers, and it gives him some hope - because if she can snap back at him like that, it means that she isn't lost yet, not like he fears he'll be if he stops hearing her voice.

He can feel her soul is wavering through their resonance; she's concentrating, but something is blocking the flow of their connection, letting only a much smaller portion of it escape.

"I'M GOING TO TRY TO GET TO YOU, OKAY?"

"HURRY UP!"

He slaps more of the hands away, feeling himself losing a bit more heat every time his skin comes in contact with them. Then, he notices that he's stopped descending, the hands successfully holding on to him as he is dragged to their midst.

" _MAKA!_ "

"I'M COMING," she screams, but the voice seems to be coming from below. His stomach sinks. How much further down has she travelled without being stopped like he was? She'll never be able to reach him unless she climbs up the mountain of half-dead limbs and loses her humanity along the way; he's unable to move as the invisible limbs pull him in, deeper into the cold and emptiness.

He's stricken with the grieving realisation that they are going to become a part of it. Soul wonders how many people have fallen into this very same trap, doomed to become part of it, to try and reach for every bit of human life and warmth that wanders into the damned pit, just like it'll happen to him and his meister soon enough if they can't stop it.

But then something else is grasping at his feet, climbing up his legs, terribly cold but _not cold_ at the same time, and his lips might be blue with the absence of life and he might be on the verge of oblivion and of being a lost soul, but he knows his meister's touch.

" _Soul Resonance!_ " they scream together, and then there is light and the hands are moving away and they are together again.

Maka doesn't even need to tell him to transform before he's in place, luminescent wings growing and spreading, and they soar out of that place without looking back.

 

* * *

 

Maka is frowning through blue lips and pale, icy-cold skin, much like his would be at the moment if he weren't in weapon form. Regardless, tiny beads of condensation slide off of his shivering form, as if to remind him that they had barely avoided death by soul-getting-sucked-out-by-bodiless-limbs - an experience he isn't all that eager to repeat any time soon.

"Are you okay?" he rasps out, trying to ignore how his voice comes out feeble and trembling.

It takes her a few moments to reply, enough for him to notice that her eyelids are halfway closed. "I can't find the entrance."

He sends her a questioning wave through the Resonance, far too exhausted to properly formulate another sentence.

One particularly hard shiver from her nearly sends the both of them falling down yet again. She is avoiding using her hands to hold herself in place; he wants to tell her that they should stop and rest so he can take a look at her, to make sure she's alright - but the danger is still all too fresh in their minds, and they won't dare to stop until they are absolutely sure that they're in the clear.

"The entrance," she whispers weakly. "The place we came in through. It isn't here, it's _gone._ "

He doesn't question her, doesn't try to argue that everything looks the same and that in the low light one can't make such claims right away; he's learned to trust her in situations like this.

"What do we do, then?" he asks through chattering teeth. "Keep moving?"

She nods, and though they both know that this is a terrible idea, they do just that.

 

* * *

 

They've been flying for what seems to be hours, wavering in their flight every once in a while, their energy gone far ago.

The slope of the tunnel appears to finally be descending, becoming almost straight, horizontal ground; the wall seems to have a small glow of its own, and though it is certainly suspicious, they're not going to complain. Soul reverts back to human form, allowing both of them to rest their weary feet for the first time in what seems like forever.

"Let me see your hands," he demands, and she unwillingly stretches her arms towards him, flinching when he takes her gloved hands in his. He slides them off gently, reverently, and she flinches when they catch sight of the red skin beneath.

"You got frostbite," he breathes out, not daring to touch the blackened tips of her fingers. "Did you climb up those hands to get to me?"

"What was I supposed to do?" she snaps. "We wouldn't have gotten out otherwise. _Never._ "

"I know." He sighs, leaning his forehead against hers. He has to curve his back to do so, and she feels even colder than him, but it provides some comfort. "We have to find a way out. Fuck this. We'll come back with more people, like we should have in first place."

Maka leans more towards him, taking solace in his proximity; his breath is warm on her lips, almost too hot after the unrelenting coldness they had been through down in the pit.

"We have to go," he whispers, but doesn't move away.

"Yes," she whispers back. It takes precious minutes for either to let go, far more warm than they had been before, and then they walk.

The ground turns to stone - cracked, ancient stone that appears to be more dust than actual stone. It slips unstably underneath their feet; Soul slides an arm around her waist and she turns to smile at him, only to nearly trip and fall as a stone gives away under her foot. There's a small, muffled laugh from him which earns him both a glare and a shove, but they manage to move on without further incidents.

"Did you notice that we've only been able to move in one direction?" she asks after a while. "I couldn't even be sure if there was any way forward if we didn't fall into the pit."

Maka watches as he prepares to answer, but as if understanding their words, the wall ahead of them suddenly splits in two. Weapon and meister share a weary look.

"Which way?" Soul asks.

"I have no idea," she answers back, examining the wall without daring to let her burnt fingertips touch it. "There was nothing about it in the riddle. Just enough to figure out the general coordinates and warnings of 'great danger'."

She doesn't need to look to know that he is sending her his 'no, _really?_ ' look.

"Flip a coin?" she suggests.

"We don't _have_ any coins on us, smartass."

Maka huffs. "Well, I don't see _you_ coming up with any ideas."

"I'll leave it for the lady to decide," he snarks. "Like she has been doing _from the start_."

She narrows her eyes at him. "You could have said 'no' at anytime. Don't blame this on me."

Soul growls at her. "We don't have the time for this," he snaps. "Let's just get going, I don't feel like being stuck here for the rest of my life."

He walks fast in one direction, and she nearly storms off into the opposite before remembering that they are lost in underground tunnels where walls come alive and try to kill them; she nearly has to run after him to catch up.

 

* * *

 

"This," Soul pants out. "Is a fucking maze."

" _No shit,_ " Maka snarls. "Should have guessed that after the first seven dead ends or so, huh?"

"Don't come at me with that!" he snaps. "I don't want to have to put up with your temper when we're lost _and_ hungry _and_ sore _and_ nearly had our souls ripped out, _and_ on top of that my feet are getting fucking wet!"

She stops. "What do you mean your feet are getting wet?"

"In case you haven't noticed, Miss Combat Boots, this damn place is _flooded_."

"But it isn't!" she exclaims, and then looks at the ground. "Wait, it is? I could have sworn everything was dry not long ago."

"Well, as my feet can attest, it isn't fucking _dry_."

She motions for him to stop. He does, rather reluctantly, and they stay in silence for a few moments, listening to the echoes that bounce off the faintly glowing stone walls.

"Do you hear that?" she whispers. "Water is coming in."

"As in…?"

"This damn place is not flooded, it's _flooding!_ We need to get out of here!"

"Right, because that's not what we've been trying to do since we arrived here in the first place!"

"Just fucking _move!_ "

They start running, taking odd twists and turns as the liquid rises around them, entering their shoes and wetting their legs.

"It doesn't even make any sense!" Maka pants. "We're standing on a slope, the water should be going _downwards_ , not staying here and being level with the damn ground!"

"This whole place doesn't make any sense," he barks out. "Just keep running!"

It's past their waists now, rising faster and faster as they try to move, the fluid slowing them down. It's thick, Maka notices, and darker than water should be even in the low light, and she's struck with the realisation that it might not be water after all.

"We have to do something," Soul says, out of breath. "This is like the pit, like finding the place - there should be a way out, a riddle of sorts-"

"A _riddle_!" Maka shouts. "Do you see any riddles around here, though? Because I sure as fuck _don't._ We'd have a better chance at cutting through the whole damn thing with your scythe form."

"Maybe it's in the walls, like in the pit!" Soul turns to look at the cracked stone, pointing wildly. "Look at it!"

"It looks like _stone_ , Soul!"

He's busy running his hands over it, smearing the dark liquid everywhere. "But it doesn't! Look!"

He's right - the smeared liquid leaves imprints in the wall, far too defined to just be oddly-placed smudges. She gapes.

"Can you read that?" he breathlessly asks, and she can't do anything but come closer and try to make sense of the slowly-appearing glyphs.

"I can't translate anything."

"Then don't translate," he says. "They're pictures, drawings - just go by their meaning on the texts you read or something."

The fluid is past her neck now, and she has to stretch in order to not let it reach her mouth. He picks her up, his head solidly resting against her back as he pulls her as far up as he can manage. The fluid is going to reach his nose soon; he just hopes he can buy her enough time to get them out of there.

His head is completely under when he hears her shout "I got it!" and the ground gives away under his feet.


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I wanted to post all this at once - but guess what, it's really fucking late and I need to go to bed. With this we're officially halfway through the fic, not counting the epilogue.
> 
> As such, the rest comes tomorrow.
> 
> Until then, enjoy!  
> \--

They fall in a graceless heap, the thick fluid pouring over them in one heavy wave before it trickles out. The ceiling is all stone when they look up to check - no sight of their way in, just like when they had entered the place.

"There should be another trap," Maka says, wincing as she pulled herself up. "These things always come in sets of three."

But her partner is already looking ahead, looking as pale as when he had become when his soul had nearly been stolen. "Not if the prize is the danger in itself."

She turns, not daring to believe her own eyes.

"It's a phoenix," Maka whispers, eyes wide. "Soul, it's an actual, real-life _phoenix_."

"Yeah," he gulps. "I kind of got that."

"It's not supposed to exist," she hisses, gripping his hand so tightly he can feel his blood flow being cut off. "It's a mythological creature- _it's not supposed to exist._ "

"Try telling _it_ that." Soul holds on to her hand as well, unwilling to let go of it in face of such an odd situation, especially when the danger level had yet to be determined. That, and regardless of whether the weapon protects the meister or not, he finds her presence reassuring. She's a solid pillar of muscle and agility and unrelenting courage; he follows the siren call that is her soul as their ever-present low level Resonance fires back up into something brighter.

"Let's get the fuck out of here," Maka says, her tone of voice subdued as her eyes stay fixed on the creature. "Let's get the _fuck_ out of here before it senses us."

Slowly, silently, they head back for the entrance, their wary eyes not moving from the foul-smelling beast in fear. Then, hearts pounding, they watch with dread as loose earth slides around their feet, making the smallest of noises - but it's enough. From the nest, one dark, beady eye, roughly the size of a newborn child, peeks open.

It's too late.

The blood drains from their faces as the gigantic bird opens its serrated beak and screeches to the heavens - it's a piercing, shrill sound that makes them drop each other's hands in order to protect their eardrums. The sound makes their very bones rattle; it's the sound of a thousand souls collapsing into the dust; it's horror and pain and cruelty and the desire to watch the world burn. Even as the blood both boils and freezes in their bodies and their skulls threaten to crack under the immense pressure that the phoenix's scream creates inside the cave, there is one thing that they're sure of - the tales of the good, healing phoenixes are absolute fucking lies.

 

* * *

 

It seems like years come and pass before the abominable screech ends. By the time it dies down, echoes still reverberate through the cave; neither weapon nor meister can stand. They've slowly sunk into half-crouched, half-collapsed positions on the dusty ground - it takes a long time to regain their breathing, to make sure that both their own and each other's hearts are still beating a steady rhythm even as their souls pulsate wildly.

 _Humans,_ a snarling, searing voice seems to say directly into their minds, and they flinch from the sudden psychic onslaught. _Flesh. Meat. Food._

It only takes a glance at his meister's face for Soul to realize that Maka is absolutely terrified - and so is he. This monstrous beast, this gargantuan bird smelling of rotten flesh and ashes and suffering, this _thing_ \- it's on the kind of level they could never hope to reach. This is a forgotten god that rains fire down onto humanity; maybe even the old Shinigami himself wouldn't have been able to deal with it.

And maybe, Soul realises with dread, that's why the entrance had been locked down, and why information about it had been so difficult to find. And maybe, quite probably, they have just massively fucked up. Maka's soul thrums with the same realization, and he reaches for her hand again, only to already find it halfway extended towards him. Are they going to fight? Probably, even if they end up dead before striking the first blow. But his meister is nothing if not hard-headed and justice-driven, so they'll at least try. Besides, it isn't like they can make it to the door if the beast decides to hunt them down, and Soul decides then that they probably hadn't planned this expedition very well at all.

The creature clicks and hisses, rising along with the steam that escapes its feathers. _Humans, humans._

Maka nods to him, and he knows this. It's familiar, the feeling of her hand in his as his body of flesh and bone is replaced by metal, shrinking and growing and reshaping to take on his scythe form. They've grown together, becoming more powerful, more experienced, but he fears that this is the end.

 _Flesh,_ its voice gurgles. _Why are you here?_

He can feel Maka containing her surprise at the creature's show of intelligence. Even kishins had some vestiges of the time they had been human, such as some form of speech, but more often than not their vocabulary was limited to a few keywords, most of them unable to form coherent and conversational sentences.

"We mean no harm," Maka whispers, grasping the shaft of her weapon more firmly. Then, louder. "We didn't mean to intrude."

Its talons are as black as coal, dirty and crusted with something of a colour between brown and red - Soul has a feeling that it's blood. They look like they could tear him apart as easily as one rips apart a piece of wet paper; it'd be quick, clean, and deadly. The phoenix balances itself on its deadly appendages, wings still folded on its back - with the size of their owner, Soul is pretty sure that they would be larger than the cave itself.

 _Humans,_ it growls out. _Flesh. Food. Why are you here?_

Soul looks at his meister, unsure if the creature truly is like the kishins they normally fight, and if so, if it would be worth it to try and explain themselves to it. "We came in search of something," she begins, because at least trying wouldn't hurt. "We weren't trying to get in here, it was an accident."

Lies, of course. But he figures that telling the beast that they had been looking for it probably wouldn't be the best choice.

 _Food. Flesh. Bone. Fire_.

Well, at least it appeared to know a few more words, though the only reaction it had to Maka's explanation was the rising of the cave's temperature.

"Try sucking up to it," he hisses at her through Resonance. "This is getting us nowhere."

She mentally acquiesces. "Oh, mighty Phoenix," she starts, and Soul would be snickering at her if their lives weren't at stake. "We apologize for disturbing you. We were foolish for trying to explore your realm, though we did not know at the time that it belonged to you, powerful one."

It appears to be slightly appeased, if the lowering of the columns of steam rising from its body are of any indication. Maka continues. Soul wonders if she's going to add a courteous bow anytime soon.

"Magnificent one, we wonder if there's anything we can do to compensate you for trespassing and waking you from your peaceful slumber." _Apart from being eaten,_ she mentally adds.

The creature seems to let out its equivalent of a human's snicker, the glinting depths of its black eyes burning with some sort of sadistic glee. _Humans. Flesh. Offering._

"Yes, an offering," Maka breathes out. "We cannot bring you any humans, great one, for there aren't any in the vicinity." More lies. "But we can find something else."

The phoenix leaves its perch on the twisted nest, seemingly slithering in their direction. The tail feathers are beautiful, made from fire and all its colours, flickering amusedly in the low rune light. _Flesh,_ it rumbles. _Offering. Soul. Souls. Bodies. Give me. Give me. GIVE ME._

It lets out another screech, far weaker than the first one, but still enough to bring them to their knees. Then, a piercing sensation invades Soul's mind, easily sneaking by the straining Resonance.

 _She can't hear us_ , the voice whispers maliciously. _You want to save your mate, don't you? The pretty human with the grass eyes and the straw hair._

 _Yes,_ Soul irritatedly thinks, because _fuck_ , this is his mind, painful and itchy and smoky as it is, and the only person allowed in there is his meister. _Don't ask stupid questions._

An inhuman snicker sounds out. _You want to protect her._

Countless flashes of moments between Soul and his meister flash before his eyelids, forced to the surface by the beast. There he is, catching her mid-fall and rolling over so that it's him hitting the cold pavement below instead of her; there she is, wounded and grinning that insufferably hopeful smile as he supports her; there he is, throwing himself in front of Crona's incoming blow, knowing that he'd most likely die, but more than ready to lay down his life if it meant that his meister would come out of it alive.

 _She's your lady love,_ the voice teases cruelly. _If you looked at her anymore, you'd swallow her with your eyes. You want to keep her safe, don't you?_

 _I've already told you not to ask stupid questions,_ Soul snarks back, and another screech from the phoenix assaults their eardrums. He wonders how they haven't burst yet.

 _What are you willing to do to keep her safe, then?_ The voice penetrates his mind, dulls his senses, until everything gyrates around it and the memories of his meister.

_Everything._

_Good,_ it says, and Soul can almost hear it smirk. _Because I'd hate to give up on such a tasty morsel unless I got something good in return. Do we have a deal?_

Through the crippling pain, Soul manages to open his watering eyes the slightest bit, just enough to watch as his meister opens her mouth in a silent scream, her convulsing silhouette nearly a mere shadow in his sight; it's enough to make up his mind.

He's snarling, his head hurts, and the Resonance is nearly non-existent by now, but he can't bring himself to care anymore. _You can't hurt her. You can't kill her. If you do any of that, the deal's off. What do you want?_

 _Nothing much,_ it says gleefully, and Soul knows that he probably fucked up. _Just, let's see... You._

 _What-,_ is all he has time to say, before his body burns down to ashes.

His world becomes darkness.

 

* * *

 

Maka is pretty sure that something is wrong - not that the colossal, man-eating bird made of fire and coal and cruelty hadn't made her danger senses tingle, but still. It's far too silent in her head, her body, in the space around her. Something is missing, and she isn't sure what until she opens her eyes.

Soul is gone. So is the aforementioned colossal, man-eating bird made of fire and coal and cruelty, but that's a collateral that gets relayed into a secondary worry, because _her partner isn't there._

Only, he is.

Even though she is sitting on the rocky floor, she manages to jump as a warm, nearly burning hand settles down on her shoulder. She is quick to turn around and get into a fighting stance, though her muscles feel as sore as they had been after the battle with Asura.

Her mouth falls open as she gasps. " _Soul?!_ "

His smirk is a little too wide and his eyes are a bit too open, but when he says her name it's with the same smouldering voice as ever, and she feels herself relax the tiniest bit.

"Maka," he says, and everything is alright. "Let's get out of here."

He drags her towards the exit, hand curled painfully tight around her wrist, and she can't help but feel uneasy. "What about the phoenix?"

"It'll be fine," he dismisses, jerking her alongside him. "Phoenixes have a thing for bursting into flames, right? That's probably what happened."

"Hey, you're hurting me," she complains, prying his hand away from her wrist. It throbs, the skin red, and she glares at him.

"Sorry," he says, bringing back his own hand to shove back into his pocket. "I just think we'd better get out of here before it comes back."

Her glare softens a bit. "You're probably right," she says, crossing her arms over the chest. "Let's go."

She feels cold; maybe it's from the difference in temperature now that the flaming bird is gone, or maybe it's because her soul feels a little emptier than before, but he is right.

They need to leave this place.


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter feels very rough and rather incomplete to me, so expect it to be added to and worked on when I have some free time on my schedule. 
> 
> Either way, enjoy!

They are a tired, sore mess when they finally manage to climb their way out of the hole and back to the surface, though it had been far more easier than the way in - the walls had seemed to shift out of the way, granting them a safe passage back outside. Maka watches as Soul takes a deep, long breath, savouring the fresh air as a grin spreads itself across his face.

"You okay?" she asks. It's disorientating, not being able to sense her partner's soul - anyone's soul, in fact, she discovers after trying to use her Soul Perception. The horrifying firebird's screeches seem to have disrupted her abilities, and it's with cold dread coiling in her gut that she hopes that it isn't permanent.

"Yeah," Soul says, his grin wider than she's used to seeing on him. "I feel like I've been locked down there _forever._ "

 

* * *

 

Maka rewraps with sore fingers the bandages around her injuries, noting that the stitches in her midsection have ripped _again,_ and though it is nowhere near as harmful as it could have been a week or more ago, she still needs to be more careful. Soul is idly flipping through channels on the television, not sparing her a glance when she huffs out a breath.

"I'm sorry, okay?" she snaps, setting down the antiseptic violently, and winces. It sloshes inside the bottle; if they didn't use it in ridiculous amounts it would surely have spilled. Her frostbite is healing slowly, recuperating with the heat, but it still hurts like a bitch. "I know I was the one who insisted on going instead of waiting for Kid's command, but I didn't think it'd be any worse than what we usually go through."

His eyes flick towards hers uninterestedly. "I'm not mad," he says, and returns to playing with the remote.

"You obviously are," she growls out.

He has the gall to smirk.

"Oh? What am I doing to make you think that, Maka?"

That throws her off.

What _exactly_ is he doing to make her think that he's mad at her? It's not like Soul doesn't act like this most of the time-

Oh.

_Oh._

Maka feels herself blush.

"When you figure it out, feel free to tell me," he smugly drawls, and she kind of wants to punch him.

That fucking idiot. She can't believe she's upset because he isn't tending to her like he always does. It's not like she _needs_ him to - Maka knows how to bandage herself quite well, _thank-you-very-much_ , especially when it's minor injuries such as these. Even with frostbite. Even after having literally bathed in blood and only discovering after coming out in the sunlight. Even if she doesn't have the comforting presence of his soul resonating with hers anymore.

It's just nice to have him do it, that's all.

She ignores her flaming cheeks and the remembrance of his gentle, warm hands against her skin.

"What about you?" she asks shyly, and ignores the flying scythes in her stomach that his red gaze brings to life.

"What about me?"

"You're hurt," she points out, holding out the gauze. "Let me clean that up. And try not to drip on the sofa."

Her partner looks distractedly at his own blood-stained shirt, seemingly only just realizing that he had suffered injuries as well. "Oh," he says. "Okay."

His shirt is halfway across the room before he even takes two steps, and she takes the time he takes to reach her to admire the tanned skin of his chest.

Fortunately, his wounds are nothing too deep. They're mostly shallow gashes - many, but not too painful or dangerous as long as they were kept clean.

 _He's been through worse_ , she thinks as she cleans them up with no small measure of pride. Her weapon is brave and reckless and an idiot, but she wouldn't have him any other way.

 

* * *

 

Maka remembers scolding her partner for staying up watching TV last night, though she had sat next to him after finishing her phone call to the DWMA, warning them not to allow anyone to touch their research on the supposed artifact. What she hadn't counted on was on waking up cold and alone, still on the living room, while Soul snored away in his room.

Her neck is sore, her fingers hurt, and now she's pissed.

She makes a solemn promise to herself to ignore him when he gets up, but he makes it really hard for her when he walks out of his room with messy bed hair and with no shirt on. He plops down on the chair opposite from her, carelessly stealing some of her eggs when he sees that she hasn't cooked any for him.

"So," he says between forkfuls of eggs. "We going back to Kid's paperwork or what?"

She glares at him. "Are you fucking kidding me? We just nearly died - again. You didn't do anything but whine for days when we were assigned those files, just take the chance to rest for now, okay?"

"No need to be such a grump," he smirks, and takes a few swigs from her orange juice.

They are going to be okay, she promises herself, hoping this one promise doesn't go down the same path her last one did. A piece of them is missing; a big, important piece that makes up a huge part of who they are, and it's going to take time to heal, to recuperate from their invisible wounds and mend their broken link.

She just hopes that they're able to go back to the way they were.

 

* * *

 

He doesn't listen to music anymore.

It takes her a few days to notice why the house seems so silent, even counting in the fact that Blair is gone. Her partner is the kind of person that lives and breathes music, playing it when there's a chance, humming it when there's not. His soul usually thrums some kind of melody that envelops her and brings her in; now, with her meister abilities gone, she misses it.

Not being in constant Resonance with her partner is throwing her off. She feels lonely all the time now, even as their days slowly return to normal. He feels strange, out of her reach; she supposes he's still trying to make sense of their new situation, much like she is.

They meet Black*Star and Tsubaki for lunch the week after they crawled out of the underground maze; they now spend most of their time in Japan, training their souls in other to transcend humanity. Little Angela is with them, offering a cheerful grin at Maka before running off towards Tsubaki once again; she lives with Sid and Nygus during the periods when Tsubaki and Black*Star stay away for longer.

They are raising her well, even though she blows a raspberry at Soul and stays away from him as much as possible. Maka snickers and offers her cookies - her weapon's personality isn't the best; it sure had taken her quite some time to develop a taste for it.

It brings her comfort to listen as the tiny witch babbles happily about how she's also in training and how she'll be stronger than the blue-haired ninja; the meister hopes to the heavens that she doesn't, because the last thing they need is another Black*Star, especially one with witch powers.

"Sooo, the two of you finally get laid or what?" the blue-haired ninja asks out of the blue, grinning widely. His partner is quick to hit him in the head before Maka gets to him, though that doesn't stop her from silently promising him an early death.

"There is a _child_ present, you idiot," Maka fumes. "And I have no idea what even went through your mind to ask _that_."

He scrutinizes them with a furrowed brow. "You two aren't having marriage problems, are you? My minions should always be in good mood to serve me!"

"Black*Star!" gasps Tsubaki.

He shrugs. "What? Just saying. What have y'all been up to, anyway?"

"Paperwork," Soul dryly says, and leaves it at that.

 

* * *

 

She misses him. He spends far too much time away from home these days, taking over Kid's place in meetings and official occasions while he's away. She cherishes the rare moments where he sits down by her side when they're watching TV, puts his arm around her shoulders when walking, makes all sorts of grimaces when she cooks something he doesn't like.

"Where are you going?" Maka asks. Her weapon is halfway through the door when she speaks up, but he looks back and raises a brow at her.

"Witch Council meeting," he says. "Did you forget? Since Kid isn't here I'm pretty much forced to go."

"But you're early," she says. "You're _never_ early. Don't you want dinner first?"

"They serve dinner there." He smirks. "All kinds of weird, foreign seafood, I hear."

"Oh," she says, disappointed. "I was hoping-"

He's back in three strides before she can finish her sentence, strong hands curling around hers, stroking her still-healing fingertips.

"We can have our own dinner party tomorrow," he says as he offers her a wide grin.

She flushes. "I- That's not what I- Just go!"

"Whatever you say, dear."

He blows her a kiss on the way out, and she's never felt so lost in her life.

 

* * *

 

Kim and Jackie are hand in hand when they approach Soul, grinning.

"Heyyy, Last Death Scythe, what have you been up to?" Kim asks, almost flirtingly, and Jackie scowls at her.

"Nothing much," he says, gifting them with a quick smile. "Just getting some fresh air before going to the meeting. You?"

"We're on a quick break," the black-haired girl answers, grasping her meister's hand more tightly. "We've been helping Kid and Maaba spread the word on the truce to isolated witches and teams all over the world."

"It's been fun," Kim says, still smiling. "Though we've had to do things the hard way a couple times."

"A bit of roughness on the job is always fun," he grins, red eyes fixed in the distance. "How's Ox?"

Jackie stiffens immediately; Soul contains the urge to smirk at her reaction.

Kim only shrugs. "He's the same, I guess. Lost him when we went to the Bermudas's Triangle or something, though I've heard he's in France now. The witches seem to like him for some reason."

Soul snorts. "Anyway, I should get going - Kid isn't around to do any damage control, after all."

"Way to be a pessimist," Kim snorts. "But see you around or something, I guess."

"Sure," he says, and walks in the massive building with a knowing smirk.

 

* * *

 

Maka is the kind of person that knows how to read others, especially her partner - even if it's after years of trial and error. And if there's one thing she's sure of, it's that something is wrong.

But now it's the middle of the night, too late for musings and far-fetched theories. She gazes at the blackened moon, offering her thanks to the friend that had sacrificed themselves for humanity, and lays down to sleep.

Tomorrow, she'll make sure of it.

Tomorrow, she'll know.


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next two (final) chapters should hopefully be posted tomorrow after they've had the chance of being revised by someone other than me; the epilogue should come along a little later. Parts of this chapter might not be betaed, either.  
> Expect the fic to go under some revising after everything is up.
> 
> Enjoy!  
> \--

 

Maka likes to keep all her blades sharp, both those who belong to her partner and the ones that adorn the apartment's kitchen. She takes care of them every few weeks, and today is that day.

The oil, the whetstone, and the extensive collection of knives are ready for their scheduled preening, so are the rags placed neatly on the countertop. She couldn't bring herself to change out of her nightwear - one of Soul's shirts and a pair of sleep shorts. Maka has the habit of stealing them after he's worn them once or twice; long enough for his scent to soak in them and make her relax even when he's not around. His scent is nearly gone, though, but she can't bring herself to replace this one - not when the scent of the shirts he's been wearing recently is the tiniest bit off.

She takes her time sharpening the knives, starting with the smallest. Her weapon enters the kitchen as she reaches the bigger ones, opening the fridge and drinking directly from the carton like she scolded him a thousand times for doing. It's almost enough to make her question what she's about to do.

The sounds of the whetstone sliding across the metal stop, and it's put aside. Her hands are relaxed over the hilt of the blade when she asks, "For how long have you been pretending to be Soul?"

Maka narrows her eyes. He looks back, eyes unblinking even in the harsh light, and she knows her suspicions are right.

"You're not Soul," she accuses, and her hand firmly grips the freshly-sharpened meat cleaver resting on the kitchen table. "I _knew_ it. Who the hell are you?"

The impostor looks a bit too relaxed given that they'd just been found out - and that an angry meister was pointing the sharpest knife in the household at them.

"Took you long enough, given that you ' _knew_ it'," they mock, and it doesn't do _shit_ to calm her down. In fact, it does the exact opposite.

"I only had a feeling," she growls. "And given that sometimes either Soul or I go through something that makes us act weird for a while, I didn't want to jump to conclusions. I guess I should have, though."

"Probably, yes," the imposter says with a smirk. It looks wrong, wrong, _wrong_ , to see that kind of familiar expression on her partner's face while knowing that it isn't him. It's just the slightest bit off, but it's enough for her to grit her teeth at the familiarity of it.

"You have his memories, like Oni did," she deduces. "That's how you've been able to hold character for so long. But we got rid of that guy a while ago, so I ask again, _who the hell are you?_ "

"Oooh," they croon. "Scary. Are we playing good cop, bad cop now? Because I think someone is missing from the equation."

"Yes," Maka hisses. "Someone is. Where is Soul?"

This new smirk is slow, unfurling cruelly over her partner's lips. "What if I told you he's dead?"

And then she lunges at him.

Maka Albarn is and has always been a scythe meister, but it doesn't mean that she doesn't know how to wield a knife. She flies at him, both hands gripping it, ready to cut into its skin with all the force of someone who wields a human-weighted scythe for a living, but her mind quickly registers that something is wrong; she stops herself just in time. The fake hasn't moved, allowing her knife to graze the skin of its chest before grabbing her wrist roughly, not allowing her to move.

"Tsk, tsk," they taunt, brushing her partner's lips against her ear, and though she _knows_ that it isn't _him_ , she can't suppress a shiver. "Well, angel - what if I told you that if you kill me like this, your dearest partner also goes down with me?"

Maka freezes. "What happened in that cave? What did you do to Soul?"

It's her partner's eyes gazing back at hers, only not. She can sense it in their coldness, in the lack of calculated laziness that is customary in her partner, in how they fail to bring comfort to her soul.

It's her partner's voice rumbling out of her partner's chest; she can see the tiniest sliver of the scar that means so much to them peeking out of his shirt's collar. This isn't her partner, her soulmate. This isn't her Soul.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he - _it_ , she corrects, and scolds herself for even having to remember herself to do it in the first place - purrs at her, caressing her cheek thoughtfully, almost affectionately. "You were quick enough to deduce _when_ the change occurred, I'll give you that. For how long have you felt guilty about thinking badly of your partner before you realized I'm not him?"

Maka flushes red when his lips touch the corner of her mouth, frantically reminding herself that _this isn't Soul_ , _don't fall for this crap!_ while his hand still firmly holds hers in place; the pressure of the knife in her partner's chest makes a few more droplets of blood spill out.

"Don't do that," she snaps. Her eyes are burning. How could she have taken this long to notice the absence of her partner?

"Why not?" he whispers. His breath is warm, and she can't help but feel disgusted at both herself and him. "Is the relationship between you and your partner that weak, for you not to have suspected it right away? Was the relief of seeing his body alive enough to fool you? Silly girl. How you even noticed anything was wrong at all is beyond me."

 _The phoenix,_ she realizes in the midst of her anger. _It's the only thing back then that was off. It's how it even knows what happened back then._

"Soul is _nothing_ like you," she grinds out, turning her face away from his smirk. Now was not the time to let that _thing_ know that she had caught on. "He's selfless, and he loves music, and he eats like he hasn't seen food in days, and he's an amazing person, unlike _you!_ "

He snickers. "More like he always puts you first, and it set you off when I didn't do the same."

The pigtailed meister growls at him, eyes blazing fiercely. "I'll get him back, you'll see."

"One word about this to anyone else and your partner is dead." The fake offers her what could almost pass for a honest smile. "I really want to see you try."

 

* * *

 

It hurts. It hurts, it fucking _hurts_ , and he can't do anything to stop it.

He trusts his partner, he seriously does. But he can't pretend that it doesn't make him ache down to the deepest recesses of his soul, to see Maka act around the _fake_ walking around in his body as if it's him - not after he fought through darkness and its grasping cold hands to make it out of the tunnels, latching onto her soul even if she couldn't feel it in order not to become one of the souls in the endless pit they had escaped. Even though he knows that the phoenix's infernal screeches temporarily mess up the weapon and meister genes, disabling her Soul Perception, he'd like to think that his meister knows him better than that.

And then, she doesn't even seem to notice.

It makes him tremble whenever the maleficent bird in his body brushes against her, making her shiver. He hates it when the imposter compliments her cooking, or when it makes a grab for her wrist - the one comfort he has is that she doesn't seem to reciprocate, not like when it's with him there instead. He feels somewhat ecstatic at the knowledge that, at least, Maka isn't unaffected by the closeness of his body - he can see her every reaction from his non-corporeal vantage point, from the goosebumps rising in her skin to her dilated pupils - and then promptly wants to vomit his guts out on the nearest trash can or toilet, because it's his meister and _someone who isn't him_.

He hates it, he hates it, he _hates it_.

Soul knows that he has to do something, but his hands pass through all things physical and his shouts go unheard. He has taken to nearly glueing himself to his meister in an attempt to at least bring some comfort to the both of them - the one thing that gives him hope is the way Maka's eyebrows furrow in concentration when the usurper in his body turns away, as if to check that it really is him. It's useless for now, but just the fact that she knows that something isn't quite right is reassuring; that warm feeling keeps him grounded even as the wriggling, translucent mass of Other threatens to sweep him away in its tide.

The bastard knows what he's going through, and smirks whenever his phantom body starts to feel a little too much like it's shattering into a thousand pieces of his soul. It makes a point of getting particularly touchy with his meister at such times, to the point where even his new kind of fractured, kaleidoscopic vision becomes uncomfortably foggy. On these times, Soul is sure that he's so close to fading away he can almost taste the nothingness of death - if death is even a possibility for him now.

Maybe Kid could have helped him if he'd been around. Yet, issues with the witches' world have become complicated, according to Maka's daily ramblings; it's the kind of thing he wouldn't have paid any attention to in their daily life, but now he needs his meister's presence, his meister's voice, his meister's scent - it has become his oxygen and water and life.

His world revolves around her, now more than ever. Soul has always been accused of being a little too overzealous about his meister, a little too protective, too ready to lay down his life for hers if the situation called for it - it's what got him in this new dilemma in first place. A world without Maka is something he can't - won't - even imagine; not for him, not for anyone else.

Soul drifts a little too close to her, like he has the tendency to do nowadays. If he gets close enough, he can nearly use the senses that his human body kept. So what if it's more images and flashes of colour and temperature than scents or tastes? So what if Maka's presence tastes of starry nights and adrenaline and crushed pine needles? His mouth waters, though he isn't sure if he even has one anymore; his fingers reach out for her, only to be reminded that he shouldn't set himself up for disappointment. He is becoming a little too much Other; he wonders if all the kishins they battled went through something like this.

If they did, Soul thinks he can understand them a bit better now.

And then, something shifts. In the middle of the thick Other water that keeps trying to drag him under, there is a change.

" _Who the hell are you?_ "

He breathes in her voice, a limpid, crystalline bell sounding clear between the dark undercurrents, and now there's a safe place to hold on, tiny and feeble as it might be.

" _What did you do to Soul?_ "

 _Maka, no_ , he wants to say, but also, _Maka, yes, please._

 _Get away from him_.

_Stay away!_

_You need to stay safe!_

_Get me out of here!_

It drives him mad. Soul is halfway to madness, he's sure, because he can't even keep his own thoughts from battling each other; he's trapped in a void, a vortex of selfishness and desire to keep his meister safe. This is what it's always been about, after all.

But now there is light shining through the Other veil that clouds his eyes, his soul. Something is breaking through the barrier that keeps their Resonance from flaring up, maybe just the very recognition from his soulmate that he is still around, even though his body is occupied by someone who's not him; he can feel the tiny tendrils of her soul still holding on to his coming back to life, enveloping him, pulling him in. He's the most corporeal he's been in what feels like forever - the dizzying, twirling lights on the edge of his vision are nearly gone; he can almost taste the soft cotton of his meister's shirt as she looks up at him, mouth open invitingly in a gasp as her eyes overflow with tears.

"Soul?" she asks, and her voice melts and swirls around him like warm honey.

He could never really leave her in the first place.

 

* * *

 

Soul Eater Evans, the Last Death Scythe - or at least something that appears to be him - strides into yet another meeting with the Witch Council with a satisfied smirk playing around the edges of his mouth.

He's got a truce to wreck, and nothing can get on his way right now.


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FFN takes away all my double dashes, and AO3 takes away all my italics. I just can't win.  
> The following chapters are largely unbetaed, keep in mind that I'll be revising the whole fic once my brain cools down, though.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

There are few buses doing the connection between Death City and-- well, pretty much anywhere else. For one, because very few people want to visit a city where they are nearly constantly in life-or-death situations, and those who have chosen to settle down don't have anywhere else to go. The old Shinigami had decreed that only the minimal number of buses were to be used; the risk of a kishin entering one and ending up in a defenseless city was far too great. As such, the buses connecting to the nearest city came twice a month, there being a few more during the time the school year for the DWMA starts, but mostly on the low numbers. Airplane companies in Death City, Nevada make good money.

It isn't either the beginning of a school semester or a business trip for the man stepping out of the empty bus, though. He breathes in the air, cleaner than in most cities he's visited, and immediately wishes he had packed more summer clothing. He knew that the city was situated near the desert, but he had never realized how hot it would be.

The heavy backpack hangs from one hand as he spies the academy in the distance, the other hand over his eyes to shield them from the glaring, laughing sun. A shiver manages to run down his spine even in the blazing desert heat, leaving behind the kind of foreboding feeling reserved only for when you enter a new, unknown place that defies the laws of what you've known so far in life.

There is a little kid with short blond hair staring at him, perched on her bike seat, mouth hanging slightly open - just enough for the lollipop she had been sucking on to fall down on the pebbled road.

"Wow," the little girl says, and her eyes are open so wide that he can distinguish her eye colour even from this distance. "Are you Soul Eater?"

The man adjusts his violin case against the material of the backpack, and his lips draw out a rueful grin - the one his little brother had gotten from him.

"No," he says, chuckling. "But if you show me where I can find him, I'll introduce you both."

"Awesome," says the kid, and Wes Evans takes her hand as she leads him through the twisting streets of Death City and towards his brother.

 

* * *

 

The block on her abilities is gone; the Soul Perception returns to her via millions of souls bursting behind her eyelids like stars in the night sky. And above all, there is one that burns brighter than the rest, one that calls for her; the one she thought she had lost. Her eyes flutter open as she turns, steeling her heart, not daring to hope.

But he is there, and she wants to cry.

"Soul?"

He hates to see her like this, but it's better than not seeing her at all. Her lashes are dark with tears, clinging wetly to each other as she blinks disbelievingly.

Soul has a mouth, he thinks. He hasn't really tried it yet, not when anyone who mattered could hear him, and certainly not for anything other than curses and demands and threats and half-uttered _Maka, I love you_ 's, so he wonders if her name at least will make it past through his lips without being sullied.

It does. It curls lovingly around each letter, tasting each delicious portion with longing. It's the most beautiful word in existence, one he wants to repeat again and again and again until it's all he can hear and smell and taste.

"You fucking asshole!"

She tries to reach for him; whether to hug him or hit him, he isn't sure which, but then the worst happens.

Maka, hair of cornfields and eyes of all-seeing forest, goes through him.

He can hear his own heart breaking - it's not the sound of broken glass or of tearing organs. Instead, it's the sound of a missed G in a scale, spiralling into fractals of ripped lace and undertow. Maka looks as devastated as he feels, hands clutched tightly to her jacket's fabric, near her chest, as if to keep the feeling of dematerialization away.

"You left me," she whispers, tiny and fragile and angry and wrecked all in one body, and he wants to hold her. Death, he wants to hold her, but he doesn't think he can handle trying and failing to do so again.

Soul shakes his head emphatically, willing words to come back to the forefront of his mind, buts it's a jumble of thoughts and things he has never had the courage to say before, so he settles on their Resonance, the one constant he can fall back on.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, their souls flare back to life. Together.

 

* * *

 

"Well, you still don't have a body."

They are standing uncomfortably in front of one another, not sure how to proceed from this. This is unfamiliar territory; they've never been apart for this long after partnering up, and having someone - or _something_ \- take over the other's place while they are gone certainly throws even greater complications into the matter.

Though it's terribly awkward - more so than any situations they've got into so far, barring perhaps those two or three times where accidental flashing made their resonance go wacky for a couple of weeks -, Maka can't help but feel more relaxed than she's been in weeks, their resonance buzzing through every nerve; she's hypersensitive, feeling almost like she's trapped in a dream - a wonderful, beautiful dream from which she doesn't want to ever wake up from.

He wants to touch her. He's missed her presence, her warmth, the contact of her skin against his. He wants to caress her cheek - before he realizes it, his hand is nearly there, a breath away from her cheekbone. It pains him that he can't touch her; the skin looks so soft and pure in the light of their apartment - he longs for it.

"Soul," she breathes, pupils blown wide and dark. The part of her face that he's nearly touching flares with colour; it's mesmerizing. He wonders if the same will happen to her lips if he caresses them them as well.

The words take their time to come out; half of his mind is still trapped in the Other sea of wandering souls. "We can't do this right now," he rasps out. "Maka, I can't touch you. I _can't._ "

Thankfully, she doesn't misunderstand the meaning of his words like she has the tendency to do. He watches as she closes her eyes in defeat, bowing her head towards him as if the one remaining barrier between them would cease to exist and she'd finally, _finally_ feel his skin against hers.

"You're right." She swallows, and he notices that even with her lovely, silky skin, there are dark circles under her eyes, bruised smudges deriven from unrest and sleepless nights. "I've missed you."

"You too," he sighs, and feels the overwhelming desire to rest his head against hers. "I've missed you too, I mean. Far too much. It's not healthy."

"I don't care," she breathes out. "I can feel it, you know? You think it's obsessive, and awful, and that you should keep it bottled up - but you shouldn't. We've been in way too many situations that justify it. I feel the same as you."

"You do?" He's incredulous, self-doubt twisting with happiness and dread in his soul; she feels it all.

"I do," she confesses. "We're far too dependent on each other, and I know it's not healthy, but after all this is over, we'll talk it out. We'll make it better. We've grown so much with each other, this is just another step of the way."

"But first we have to go after the phoenix." He watches her closely, memorizing the myriad of small shapes she is made of, so unclear when he had been lost in the Other fog.

Her eyes stay closed as she relishes in being close to her partner for a few more moments; she's exhausted after spending weeks overwhelmingly tense without knowing why, but now she can uncoil and take a deep breath for the first time in a long while.

"First we have to go after the phoenix."

It's not over, though, and they both know that. They can't rest just yet.


	8. Eight

When they get outside, chaos is reigning.

"What the fuck is going on?" Maka asks to the nearest person darting by, a NOT class kid who stops only long enough to answer.

"The witches are rebelling, apparently the truce negotiations went to hell," the kid says in one breath before running off.

Maka pales. "Shit. Then that's why the phoenix was so happy to go to the meetings."

"We need to fix this," Soul says from her side.

"Transform, we're flying there- oh wait."

"Right," he flatly says. "No body, remember?"

She chuckles awkwardly. "Yeah. Let's get moving, anyway."

They manage to avoid an incoming attack from what appears to be a pigeon witch, and nearly get sliced in half by a meister with a katana before they've even walked two blocks, which doesn't fare well for them. Halfway through, a misdirected attack from a DWMA student wielding a morning star weapon makes the front wall of a building come crumbling down.

"Who are you even trying to attack?" screeches Maka, at the same time that a very disgruntled Gopher appears in the midst of wall plaster.

"We're trying to have some privacy here," he snaps, and from behind him come three shirtless Noahs that try and coax him back inside, where they start feeding him grapes and massaging his back.

Both Maka and Soul try to shake the disturbing image out of their minds as they keep running.

 

* * *

 

A bewildered Kid is standing at the foot of the steps leading to the DWMA while Liz and Patti bark orders and demand explanations behind him.

"Maka!" he sighs when he sees her, relieved. "Thank Death. Where have you been? What's going on?"

"To put it short?" she groans. "An evil phoenix-thing stole Soul's body, and apparently it's been wrecking the peace with the witches."

Kid pales. "Oh dear. That's not good."

"No shit," Liz says from behind him. "How did that happen, anyway?"

Maka shakes her head. "No time for explaining. We just have to get Soul's body back and get everyone to stop fighting _now._ "

"That won't be easy," Liz dryly says. "No one has even bothered to stop and explain to us what the hell is going on."

"Is everyone from Spartoi here?" Soul asks, and Maka passes on his question to the others.

"No, Tsubaki and Black*Star are in Japan, and Ox and Harvar are on a mission in Canada- Wait, what do you mean 'Soul asks'?"

"Soul is here," Maka explains, waving her hands in the air non-committally. "Non-corporeal at the moment, but here. Or not here. Or something. We really don't have the time for this."

"Agreed," Kid nods, and calls for his weapons. "You two try to get his body back before any more damage is done, we'll try and take care of the rest."

They only hear Patti cheer, "Yay! We're gonna kick some ass!" in the distance before they start running yet again.

 

* * *

 

Maka doesn't go very far before she crashes into someone - someone gigantic-sized, with threatening, bulging muscles- and a white-haired companion.

"Oh," gasps the witch, extending a hand to help her up. "It's Crona's friend. Do you know what is going on?"

Relaxing her fighting stance, Maka takes the offered hand, recognizing Eruka Frog and Free the Werewolf. "You're not our enemies anymore?"

Eruka and Free share a look, shrugging. "We were only in on the fight because Medusa was making us. We kind of got sick of it, though, so we ran off."

"Oh. Okay, then," Maka says, still eyeing them somewhat warily. "Wow, this is weird, but I'll try to explain this fast because we need all the help we can get. So, apparently an evil bird took over Soul's body and ruined the treaty between the witches and the DWMA, and now everyone is fighting - can you help spread the word that this is just a major misunderstanding?"

Free offers her a wide grin, pointy teeth all out; if she didn't deal with Soul on a daily basis, she would have thought of it as intimidating, but as it is she can recognize it for the friendly gesture it is. "Sure thing, little meister. Try to not get in too much trouble, will you?"

Eruka scoffs. "Like you're the kind of person who can say that, you hypocrite - all you ever do is get in trouble!"

The werewolf kisses the knuckles of her fingers in return; the witch flushes darkly before snapping her hand back and yelling, "You can't solve all your problems by fighting or flirting!"

Free fails to look properly chastised. Maka sweatdrops.

"Uh, I really should be going-"

"Oh, sorry!" says the white-haired witch. "We should be going as well. Good luck!"

"And try not to fall over anyone else," guffaws Free, waving at her disappearing form.

 

* * *

 

"Any ideas on where the damn bird is?"

Soul groans. "And you only ask this _now?_ "

Maka smiles sheepishly. "I kind of forgot."

"No," her weapon says. "I don't know where it is. But I think I know of a way to get my body back once we find it."

"Why haven't you mentioned this before? Kid could-"

Soul interrupts her. "Kid can't do anything, okay? It's between me and that damn thing- and you."

" _Me?_ "

"Yes, just-"

"Makaaaaaaa!"

Maka groans. "Not _now_."

Spirit Albarn nearly manages to tackle his daughter to the ground in a pouncing hug. "Maka, my babyyyyy, you're okay!"

She bats away at his hands, growling lowly in the back of her throat. "Now is _not_ the time, Papa!"

"Papa knows, darling- But Papa saw your stupid dumbass weapon wandering off without you. I should have never have trusted that stupid boy to keep you protected-"

Maka freezes. "Wait, you saw Soul?"

"Yes, and I'm going to kill that awful boy when I see him-"

"Where was he?" she snaps, pushing him back firmly. "Papa, _where was he?_ "

"In the academy, near Lord Death's office, but-"

"Thank you, Papa!" Maka yells, and runs off towards Shibusen yet again.

 

* * *

 

After the treaty had been established, most of the witches living under disguise in Death City had come out of hiding, ready to live their lives without fear of being hunted down for their souls - though the prejudice is still strong in people's hearts. The new opportunities offered by the treaty had had even more of them moving in; the sheer numbers of the witch population in Death City are only clear now, when the promise of peace is gone, the new lives they had been promised quickly degenerating into fighting for their lives once again.

"We really need to stop this," gasps Maka, feeling the beginnings of a stitch developing on her side. "We have to reach Shibusen fast, before it gets away."

"We'd be there right now if _someone_ hadn't taken off without even having a direction," Soul deadpans.

"Shut up," she snaps. "I'm not feeling up with dealing with your snark right now. At all."

Soul wisely chooses to keep his mouth shut until the giant staircase that leads up to the academy comes back into sight; both weapon and meister let out a sigh of relief when they see it.

"Almost there," Soul encourages.

They race up the staircase, Maka already out of breath; for once, Soul is glad for not needing to breathe in his state. These past few weeks without missions and recovering from injuries have taken their toll, and Maka feels it more than ever.

"It's probably going in search of Lord Death's secret files," Soul says, looking helplessly at his panting meister. "Look on the bright side, at least the office is not on the top floor."

"No shit," Maka pants. "Oh, Death - I haven't felt this out of shape since I was a rookie."

"You just raced all the way across the city, most people couldn't have made it through more than a few blocks," he comforts. He also deliberately ignores that 'most people' don't fight corrupted souls on a daily basis and swing around heavy weapons all day if necessary.

Even within the DWMA everything is a mess, NOT students panicking and running around aimlessly; two or three crash into Maka and don't bother to apologize as they keep running and running and fucking _running_ all over the place like ants.

"Why the _fuck_ does everyone keep getting in my way?" Maka hisses as she shoves yet another pair of students out of her way. "We're kind of in a hurry to stop a war, people!"

"But they don't _know_ that," Soul replies. "At this point, getting a megaphone and yelling at them would be a better solution."

The meister groans. "None of this would be necessary if we hadn't gone after the damn phoenix in the first place."

Soul looks guilty. "Yeah, about that. I was trying to tell you a few minutes ago, but-"

Maka squints at him suspiciously. "What did you do?"

"I made a deal with it," he confesses. "With the phoenix."

"You _what?_ "

Soul tries really hard not to wince at what he sees in his meister's eyes. "I made a deal with it." Maka tries to interrupt, but he cuts her short, knowing that she'll probably repay him with plenty well-deserved Maka-Chops when he gets his body back. "No, just listen- If I hadn't, _neither_ of us would have come out of there alive."

Maka shakes her head. "There's no way you could have known that."

"It spoke to me, Maka. That thing? It can get inside your brain, talk to you without anyone else listening, stop you from functioning. Trust me, I _know_ what it would have done - if one of us hadn't come out, how long until someone found our clues and lost their soul down there as well? They wouldn't know about the danger; at least this way one of us made it back and was able to stop anyone else from coming."

"It could have been you, though," Maka bitterly says. "It would have been better if you were the one to come back. It _should_ have been you, so why me?"

There is a sad, self-deprecating smile drawing itself on his lips. "Because I'm selfish," he says and the words taste like truth to him. "Because I can't imagine this world without you in it."

The background resonance is pulsating wildly, and it tells him that she'd very much like to punch him, scold him, and maybe, perhaps, drown him in her affections once the anger went away.

"It's the same for me, you fucking idiot. How did you think I _felt_?"

Fuck. There are tears swimming in her eyes- He made her cry. He's making her cry. Shit. Shit. _Shit_.

He waves his hands helplessly around her shoulders, remembering belatedly that he can't touch her in his non-corporeal form. "Shit, Maka, I-"

"I can't believe you went and sacrificed yourself again for me. We _talked_ about this, Soul!"

"It's not like there was time to think about it," he snaps. "It was this or die. Listen, we'll talk about this later, okay? There are lives at stake here."

"Fine," she grumbles, narrowing her eyes at him. "But we _will_ talk about this later, mark my words!"

"I'm almost sorry to interrupt your lover's spat," comes Soul's amused voice from behind them. Maka jumps, immediately adopting a defensive stance while the real Soul tries to put himself between his meister and the incoming threat, only to be reminded that there isn't much he can do in this form. "But I'm actually not."

"You," Maka hisses.

"Yes, me," it smirks, walking deliberately towards them. "I was waiting for you, actually."

Soul and Maka exchange bewildered looks. "What?"

"You see, I quite like this body." It narrows its eyes, the red so characteristic of Soul nearly unrecognizable. "So I'll make it permanent - and for that, I need to get rid of your soul."

"Not when I'm around," Maka snarls. "Soul Resonance!"

 

* * *

 

Her fingertips are sizzling with energy; it travels up her arms, spreads over her chest, flares up wildly as their souls come together even more deeply. The background resonance is nothing compared to this, even their strongest doesn't reach the level of this one; this is an all-consuming fire, but benevolent and fierce and bright unlike how the flames from the phoenix had been. This is the merging of their souls into one, the Soul Resonance in its purest form.

 _I can feel you_ , comes a whisper in the mind; neither of them is sure on who said it, or if it evens matters. His hands are hers, hers are his; there are no more borders between their beings, their minds, their souls.

It feels like life and death and love, and they are one.

_What's going on?_

_I don't know, but it feels good._

They flex their fingers.

_Do you think- ?_

_Let's try._

Electricity snaps in their veins; there is a weird, sliding sensation in the back of their arm that Soul knows well but Maka doesn't. There is a blade sprouting out in a flash of light, a zigzagging pattern of green and black decorating the deadly weapon.

_Did you know we could do this?_

_No. Maybe it has to do with your weapon gene - we're still in your body, after all._

_Maybe. We should talk to Kid about this, later._

_Later._

"What did you do?" the phoenix hisses, eyes darting wildly. "You stupid fucks. I'll kill you both now!"

But the attack it throws misses; they avoid it by a wide margin, flipping out of the way with ease. The tips of their hair float into sight, less ash-blond and more white; Soul snickers inwardly.

_Hey, why don't you grow some wings as well? Seeing as you're super-soul-weapon now and all._

_Shut uuuuup._

More blades sprout out nearly effortlessly, guided by Soul's weapon instincts and years of practice; they slice down onto the imposter in Soul's body but are also blocked by its own set of blades.

"You're not the only ones with weapons around here," it snarls, and gigantic balls of flame fly in their direction. The phoenix doesn't give them time to rest; when they aren't blocking attacks from the incoming blades with their own, they're avoiding fireballs, flipping away from sharp feathers that seem to fly out of nowhere.

_We can't hurt it - if we do, it's your body being wounded._

_I know_ , Soul's part of the mind growls. _But look at it. It's not even trying to hurt us. None of the attacks were the kind we couldn't avoid, it's just trying to tire us out._

_It can't hurt us for some reason. Soul, you said you made a deal. What exactly did you agree on?_

Dread coils in the bottom of their gut; one of the sharp feathers nearly slices their left arm, and they don't miss the panic in their opponent's eyes.

_Shit. Maka, no._

_Tell me._

_I-_

_Tell me!_

They lunge for the impostor's arm. It's by instinct that it turns around and kicks them in the stomach, sending them flying out of the nearest window in a shower of blood and glass at the same time the nature of the contract is revealed.

 

* * *

 

"MAKA!"

The voice of her partner is a blessing amongst the pain in her back; his hands are the best thing she has ever felt as they caress her face, her arms, comb through her hair and soothe the buzzing sounds in her ears.

"It's gonna be alright, Maka," he chokes out. "It's gonna be alright. You've been through worse. You're a bit beat up, but you're going to have to get up, okay?"

"My back hurts," she hears herself say. "And I'm kind of dizzy."

"Your fall was cushioned but you went through glass, so I know you aren't feeling the best. We'll take care of it - but you need to get up soon, like _now,_ "

"Why? she moans. "I don't want to."

"I know you don't," he strokes the hair over her forehead, getting it out of her eyes. "But there's kind of a giant evil phoenix flying towards us, so we need to _move!_ "

"What?"

"Exactly what you heard," says another voice. The sounds interfering with her hearing start to disappear, and now all she can hear is the urgency of his tone. Her eyes snap open.

"Soul? What's going on?"

But it's not Soul who answers. Maka turns to Kilik as he gestures towards the flaming predator soaring across the sky, Pot of Thunder and Pot of Fire written over the metallic combat gloves settled comfortably on his hands. "Giant evil bird thing, you know the drill."

"Oh," she faintly says. "Right. That's not good."

"Understatement of the year," her weapon dryly says, helping her up. "Fortunately, you appear to have friends that refuse to let you go."

Maka looks to where she had been laying, not hard enough to be the asphalted ground she had been expecting. "Oh," she gasps again.

"Yep," Kilik smiles. "Apparently locking themselves with Asura on the moon is not enough for some people."

"Crona," Maka whispers, and realizes that her friend had been watching over her - because even with crushed leaves and petals, she can still recognize Crona's roses, the same ones that had been sprouting everywhere since the battle of the moon.

"No one even realized it was from Crona," Soul explains. "But apparently they learned some tricks from Arachne and split pieces of their soul."

"And sent them to Death City," Maka breathes. "To watch over us."

It's still daytime, far too early for the moon to be up, but Maka looks up towards the sky with tears in her eyes and a 'thank you' on her lips.

"Incoming evil thing alert!"

Confused screams sound out as a great wave of flames invades the streets; Kilik shakes his head. "We need to evacuate the civilians, but it's going to be pretty hard with all the fighting going on. Any ideas?"

Soul shakes his head. "We already kind of ruined its plan, I figure that now it's just in plain rage mode."

"Wait," Maka looks bewilderedly at her weapon. "When did you get your body back?"

"Jeez, you only noticed now?" He shakes his head with a grim smile. "The contract was broken when you got hurt - only now we have a raging firebird attacking Death City."

"That's never a good thing," comes an amiable voice from behind them. It's deep, almost musical-sounding, and terribly familiar even though Maka is absolutely sure she's never heard it before. Soul freezes beside her. "Nice to see you, little brother."

"Wes," Soul starts, and Maka notices that he's shaking. "What are you doing here?"

"Came for a visit," the voice says, and Maka turns at last to face its owner, seeing as it looks like her partner won't be doing it anytime soon - she can nearly taste the apprehension in his soul. "Though this might not be the best time for it."

At first glance, he looks just like her weapon; at a second look, he does not. They could not be related at all if it weren't for the bone structure, the somehow elegant half-slouch they carry themselves in, the long fingers built for creating all kinds of wonderful things. Wes has the kind of look that stems from long-term confidence though, and the kind of clothes and manner of talking that speak of a classy upbringing. She wonders how different the brothers had grown after Soul had left and found her.

"You must be Maka," he charmingly says, walking over to her and kissing both her cheeks. It's a strangely European gesture; it startles her before she returns the greeting, blushing all the while.

"Yes," she says, casting her weapon another glance. "I am. I'm guessing you're Soul's brother?"

Soul is glaring at him, eyes firmly fixed on her burning face and on the hand that rises to lightly touch the places she had been kissed. She flushes even more when she sees him watching her, and quickly turns her head away.

"Soul never talked much about you," Maka says. "But I'm glad to meet you. I'm just sorry it's under such a situation."

"It's fine," the young man dismisses, waving his hand nonchalantly. With every sentence spoken he looks less and less like his younger brother. "I'm terribly sorry I arrived without warning, but we tried to call several times and the call only got through once - and that time it was very hard to understand what was being said."

Soul still hasn't moved from the same place, but Wes gets to him in two strides and pulls him into a tight hug. His voice sounds choked when he says, "I've missed you, little bro."

And then Soul hugs him back, his soul overflowing with the kinds of feelings that bring happy tears to Maka's eyes; the tiny bits of his soul that are still damaged are finally starting to heal, and she couldn't be more glad.

"We really have to get moving," Kilik whispers in her ear, not wanting to ruin the moment either.

"I know," she whispers back. "Just give them a minute."

And she wipes away a tear.

 

* * *

 

"THIS IS A MAJOR MISUNDERSTANDING, PEOPLE - STOP ATTACKING EACH OTHER."

A deer witch and a Shibusen pair stop in the middle of an attack, looking at them with a confused expression.

"We're at war, though," says the meister, and the ax he's wielding momentarily grows a head that nods along to the words.

"Yeah," says the witch, looking at Soul venomously. " _He_ made sure of that."

Soul holds his hands up conciliatory. "That was actually an imposter, not me. I'm all for the peace thing we had going on. If you see a giant evil phoenix, that's who- _what_ brought us back to war. Believe it, _I'm_ not the enemy. "

"Oh yeah?" The witch narrows her eyes, and her deer hat does the same. "Prove it."

Soul simply points up as the firebird flies across the sky, setting everything on its path on fire. Both opponents blanch.

"Oh," they faintly say. "Okay."

 

* * *

 

Maka groans. "There's still like half of Shibusen fighting with the witches all over, we'll never be able to warn them all."

"We don't need to," Soul replies. "They'll catch on soon enough - the word will spread, plus it's kind to miss that monster bird blowing fire all over the city."

Maka hesitates. "I guess."

"Sooo, you guys do this kind of thing every day?"

"Kind of," Maka amiably answers. "Sometimes it's better, sometimes it's worse."

"Yeah," Soul snorts. "At least this once we only nearly died three or four times."

"I see," Wes pales. "You shouldn't tell Mom that when she arrives."

Soul pales as well. "Mom is coming?"

Maka smacks him. "Haven't you heard what your brother has been saying? They're both coming."

"Mom _and_ Dad?" His voice sounds high and panicky; for her weapon's sake, Maka tries not to laugh.

"Yep," says Wes, then frowns. "Hey, isn't that the new Death God over there?"

"Kid!" Maka shouts. "Wes, can you do us a big favor and go and inform him of that thing we talked about before? We still need to draw the phoenix over here so we can contain the damage."

"Sure," he says, though he looks slightly nervous. "Meeting a Death God. Fighting an evil firebird. How lovely."

And he takes off. Maka snorts. "Well, at least I know who you got your snark from."

"Shut up," Soul mutters, leading her towards the nearest building. They walk in through the smashed door, and walk up the stairs to the highest level - Kim had made sure that the area had been successfully evacuated.

They take a few moments to steel themselves for this next battle, never letting go of each other's hands.

"We should do our best not to fly unless it's absolutely necessary," Maka instructs quickly. "If it used that screech again and disrupted our abilities, we'd be done for."

"If it uses the damn thing we'll be done for either way," Soul says, but nods.

"Okay," she breathes. "We can do this."

"Let's go."

 

* * *

 

"HEY, YOU UGLY THING!"

"LOOKING FOR US?"

It's not the best plan, and both of them are all too aware of it. Cold sweat and fearful knots in their throats have been commonplace for a while now, though, so they do their best to ignore them even as the large creature descends towards them with an angry cry.

"Let's just hope that Kid understands it on time," Maka whispers, and they're off.

They haven't fought together for too long; it's comforting to have his weapon form safely wielded by her skilled hands as they move together as one. They twirl and shift and avoid the fireballs sent their way, deadlier each time they miss their target.

Their opponent is angry and far more powerful than they can ever hope to be, and they're aware of that; they won't survive this one if this battle doesn't end soon. It slices at them with sharp, fiery wings; the creature is hot, flaming, and it distorts the air behind it with the force of the sheer heat it emanes. From the distance, Kilik wields Azusa and lands a few strikes when he cans, though it's hard to do aim while they're moving around as much as they are, trying to remain alive.

Then, a pumpkin floats up.

It's not very large, nowhere near enough to do real damage, but as they all stare bewildered at it, it explodes, coating the creature's eyes with slick pumpkin guts. It screeches distressedly, but another pumpkin is floating up to the top of the building, and this one is much larger.

Large anough, in fact, to hold three people - or rather, one cat, one meister, and one Death Scythe.

"Yoo-hoo! Bu-tan is back~"

There's no time for crying, no time for greetings. Soul sends comforting waves to Maka via their resonance, but not even that is enough to calm her down.

_Soul-_

_I know._

_Soul, it's Mama!_

The woman wielding Spirit Albarn's scythe form is not very similar to Maka. The green eyes are there, the same shape as her daughter's, and her lithe form is the same, but taller - but her hair is of a soft brown colour, rather than ash-blond, and instead of a ready smile, the adult seems to have a permanent calculating frown on her features. She's a meister through and through, though, and a force to be reckoned with, dealing blows upon blows on the phoenix while they had barely managed to even defend themselves. Soul can finally understand why Maka holds such admiration for the absent woman, but can't help but feel that it's still far too much; Blair seems to share his opinion as she nods at him and gives him a look that says that they'll talk about this later.

They join in on the ongoing battle once more, flipping out of the way when Spirit's scythe nearly hits them.

"Hey!" Soul complains, glaring at its wielder. "Watch it!"

Kami Albarn doesn't even spare him a look. "You kids should get away, this isn't your battle."

"Only it _is_."

"Soul!"

As if it had heard them, flaming, titanesque wings unfurl subitally, nearly knocking them all out over the edge of the roof.

"It's going to try to get away!" Soul warns, and Maka's grip on him tightens.

"We're not going to let it escape. Not until Kid gets back."

"As you say, angel." His blade shortens, wings growing out and flaring with light. "Let's go."

They take off as worried shouts come from the adults on the roof, the rushing of air against their ears making it easier to ignore them. It's just them, the sky, and the phoenix; this time, they aren't lost and afraid and trapped, and help is coming. They just have to hold it off long enough.

The gravity pulls at them as they shift back into yet another familiar routine: fly high enough, transform into scythe, attack, deffend, shift back onto flying form. It's dizzying, both for him and for her, and far more dangerous than it has ever been before - if they take too long, there's nothing to stop the creature from disrupting their abilities and resonance yet again, not to mention that they're in its domain. The phoenix is still a bird, after all, and the sky is their element; too many attacks hit their target, and his shaft is quickly becoming coated in his meister's blood. They're doing their job, and doing it well.

They try the Kishin Hunter, the Witch Hunter, all kinds of special attacks they managed to develop over the years, but none of them hits; eventually, they have to stop trying out of fear of damaging the city below.

_We're running out of options!_

Then, there's an opening.

_Maka, no!_

She flies at the creature underneath them, scythe in one hand as she holds onto the flaming feathers with the other. It burns her, burns _them_ , but she grits her teeth and hold on even though her gloves are quickly turning to dust and blisters are rapidly forming on her thighs. He makes sure that his blade is sharp and buzzing with power when she shoves it into the monster's neck, and then they are crashing down onto the ground.

 

* * *

 

"It's still not dead."

They are both nearly unconscious, exhausted from the fight and from their injuries, but it doesn't stop their insides from freezing with dread when they see the wounds on the creature's neck starting to heal.

"FOOLS!" comes a voice from the distance, and then the Mighty Sword Excalibur is being stabbed deep into the firebird's heart by its wielder-

Who just so happens to be Wes Evans.

"What the fuck," is all Soul manages to say before he passes out, his meister safely within his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up using Kami as Maka's mother name (though I do know that it actually means 'wife' or something of the sort and the name on the original version was alluding to her role on the household and not her actual name) - anything else just sounded weird to me.


	9. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end, my darlings, though I shall eventually revise this with a clearer head.  
> Links to the art should be up soon.
> 
> I hope you liked the fic, and please enjoy this last chapter!
> 
> \--  
> Edit (06-01-2015) - I sadly ended up not having any art from my official Resbang artists, but apparently the fic inspired some lovely art! :D
> 
> Major thanks to the wonderful Kara/Sophie for doing an amazing art piece for the Firebird :D It's the art used as the cover of Firebird on FFN because yes, both the art and her are just that awesome - thanks again! Link for the art on her blog [here](http://datkaraperson.tumblr.com/post/106647815406/it-is-before-new-years-so-it-counts-art-made)
> 
> Both lovely lunator and yyeann also did art inspired on the thing, links respectively [here](http://lunator.tumblr.com/post/105938513782/so-er-i-read-howlingmoonrises-fic-firebird-that) and [here](http://yyeann.tumblr.com/post/106303463073/prolly-looks-family-if-youre-a-fan-of-yotsuba). I'm glad you liked the thing, and thank you!
> 
> \--

"I had the weirdest dream," Maka rasps out, looking to the bed beside hers, where her weapon lays. "Where your brother used Excalibur and killed that damned phoenix."

"Me too," Soul responds, grimacing. "I don't even want to think about it."

"I know, right?" Maka grimaces as well. A moment passes, and then, "Can I get in bed with you? It's cold."

He lifts the end of his bedsheet in response, so she slides out of hers and waddles over to his bed.

"You're always so warm," she mutters, nuzzling her cold nose against the side of his neck. He yelps.

"That doesn't mean I'm your personal heat pack, Ice Woman. Ow!" he complains, having been hit over the head by a disgruntled meister.

"Shut up," she orders, and through their background resonance he receives the message that she wants his arms around her, _now_ , because he's warm and she's not, and she doesn't like being cold _so don't interpret this any other way, stupid._

So what if the side of her face pressed against his neck is making him flush? So what if her legs are tangled with his and a little too close to his morning wood? So what if her hands are stroking his bare chest, trailing over the scar he'd gotten for her back when they were nowhere near as close as they are now?

And if her lips are moving across his neck and tracing his jawline, it doesn't necessarily mean anything - his meister expresses herself with weird acts sometimes, it doesn't mean that-

"You're giving me a headache," she mutters when her lips reach the contours of his cheekbone. "I mean all of it, though. Give me a little credit here."

He is blushing, he is _blushing_ like a twelve-year-old caught with his first porn mag, and there is nothing he can do about it. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Maka gives him a weird look, and he knows the days when everything was left unspoken and simple and undetermined are over. "Don't you want this?"

Denial time is over. This is more than he could ever hope for - there's no rejection awaiting, no doubt whether his meister would want _this_ with him or not because _she fucking made the first move and now he's free to flirt with her and ask her out and maybe kiss and-_ He takes a deep breath. "Yes. Do you?"

She snorts. "I thought kissing you all over was enough of a clue."

His chest is expanding with happiness and disbelief and _holy shit this is really happening_ , so he squeezes her tight to him, feeling her tiny form fit perfectly against his. Then, he collects himself just enough to say, "Kissing me all over, hm?"

Pink dusts over her cheeks in the most delicious manner; he kind of wants to kiss her and see if they'll get any darker.

"Just do it, idiot," she mutters, and he does.

It's slow, fragile, cautious, like he's afraid of breaking her, breaking _them,_ if he messes this up. Their mouths are barely touching; their lips brush over and over again - once, twice, just enough to send tingles running down their spines like electricity. It makes her toes curl; it makes his hands gently fist the silky strands of hair that run loose down the sides of her face. He never wants this to end.

But then, she breaks the kiss.

Her pupils are dark and wide, making her eyes seem larger, and it takes him back to that moment not long ago when he saw them like this. Her lips are red though he has barely kissed her yet - it's not enough, _not enough_ , and he doesn't think it'll ever be enough for them - and so he leans down, resisting the urge to close his teeth over them and suck them into his mouth, and instead waits for her to make her move.

When she kisses him, it's fire.

It burns his lungs, sets his chest aflame; he's being pushed down on the bed before he even realizes what's happening, her strong hands pinching at his nipples and traveling down his stomach - and down, down, _down,_ and he can't breathe and she's smirking against her lips and he never wants her to stop - even though he's sure they were burned in the fight. His arms curl around her waist, pulling her on top of him; she sucks his lower lip in thanks and kisses her way down his neck. Soul feels her teeth sink into his flesh and _oh Death he's never been so turned on in his life_ so he decides to repay the favor.

His hands are playing her like a well-tuned piano and she's mewling with pleasure from above him when they register voices coming from outside.

"Having fun, little brother?"

Thankfully the door hasn't opened yet; it gives them enough time to scramble off of each other and fix their rumpled clothing - infirmary standard nightwear, he notices - before it does, though they remain on the same bed. If they are given any shit about it, Soul decides, he'll politely tell them to shove it where the laughing sun doesn't shine.

"Come in," Maka grumbles, and a head pokes out from behind the door.

Wes has a shit-eating grin on his face when he announces, "Just thought I should give you a heads up; the parents are coming, so don't be sucking face or anything when they arrive."

"Fuck," Soul groans. They are in for a long day.

 

* * *

 

Blair hugs them tightly to her chest as soon as they're discharged and out of the infirmary's door.

Maka's voice comes out muffled, but she manages to ask a half-discernible, "Blair, did you bring Mama to Death City?"

The cat puffs up proudly. "It's what Bu-tan went out to do in the first place~ It sure took long, though, your Mama is a hard person to find."

_Maybe because she didn't want to be found_ , is the poisonous thought that runs through Soul's mind, but he refuses to allow it to stay for long. This is time for healing and conciliation, and for that exact same reason he's going to have a long talk with Maka's mother - one he suspects Blair already had, if the fierce expression in her eyes is anything to go by.

Maka hugs her harder. "Thank you," she says, and Blair and Soul exchange a knowing, dark look over the meister's head.

 

* * *

 

Kid smiles at them, Liz and Patti by his sides.

"You've done well," he greets, taking both their hands in his; Patti offers them a gleeful thumbs up from the back. "It's thanks to you that we managed to semi-permanently neutralize this threat - something that my Honorable Father failed to do in his time."

"What was even that thing, anyway?"

Kid shakes his head. "It was a fragment, much like Azura, though it did not originate from Father. Excalibur said it was the god of hatred - and like you guessed, only one of the Old Powerful Ones could hold it down."

"But it's not dead, is it?" Maka asks, leaning onto her weapon. He strokes the back of her hand with his fingers, feeling the soft skin beneath.

"Sadly, such things are what humans consider immortal - we've collected it's ashes, though, and they're now guarded in safe places all over the world. This way, it'll be pretty hard for anyone to ever bring it back again."

Soul sighs. "I'm glad. Were there many issues with the witches after the thing was brought down?"

Liz shakes her head. "Fortunately, Head Witch Maaba knew of the god of hate and understood our situation. Everything is back to normal."

"Thank Death!" Maka grins. "I don't guess this calls for another celebration?"

 

* * *

 

"I was actually joking," Maka grumbles as a Ox and Harvar waltz by. Soul resists the temptation to snicker.

"You should know better by now; those three love any reason to throw a party," he says, handing her a cup of red punch after checking it for alcohol.

"Thanks," she says, accepting it. Out of the corner of his eye, he spies Kami Albarn arguing with her ex-husband. The older meister will certainly regard her daughter's weapon with some contempt for as long as he stuck around after the conversation he had had with her; unfortunately for her, he doesn't plan on leaving anytime soon and abandoning Maka, not like she had done - he'd made it quite clear.

His parents are mingling somewhat uncomfortably with the teachers, trying to figure out more about the world their son belongs to now - though, as Maka said, they should have been doing that from the start. Soul decides that at least now he'll have some dirt on Wes when he gets too cheeky about him and Maka - his brother seems to be chatting a little too animatedly with their magical housemate, and a smirk draws itself on his face.

They watch in comfortable silence as the tiny Angela pets Marie's growing belly, promising to be best friends with whoever was growing inside; a little boy if the witch was to be believed. Maka smiles brightly at the sight, squeezing her weapon's calloused hand with her own.

"Let's go outside before they ask you to play," she suggests, and he's all too eager to take her up on that offer.

 

* * *

 

Dejá vù swims across his mind as she sets a plate of food over the railing; half of it is seafood, but this time she doesn't even try to pretend that it's not for him. Soul ignores the food, though, and pulls her over to him, burying his face in her hair.

The moon is black in the sky, but now there are roses growing everywhere. They are healing once again, but they are doing it together, just like they always have.

And as she kisses him under the moonless sky, he knows that they are home.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_~fin~_


End file.
